


the dragon, the prince, and the songstress

by gappy



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst for days, Eventual Romance, F/M, Garon is a piece of shit okay, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'll update the tags as I go, Implied/Referenced Abuse, POV Multiple, Spoilers, lilith appreciation, this is pretty dark oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 181,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6984253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gappy/pseuds/gappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After witnessing Sumeragi's death, Corrin transforms into a monster that Garon then plans to use in the eventual war with Hoshido. Azura's kidnapping is thwarted, and she grows up in Nohr under Iago's close surveillance. Doubt grows within Xander from an early age, and each encounter he has with the tormented princess makes it more and more difficult for him to remain ignorant of his father's cruel nature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Royal Blood

 -*-

_Sing with me a song of silence and blood_

_The rain falls, but can't wash away the mud_

_Within my ancient heart dwells madness and pride_

_Can no one hear my cry?_

 -*-

 **I.** the spire

 

 

_“You are my child now.”_

A girl sat before King Garon, trembling, fingers pressed into crevices within the cobblestone road. Her face was round, with big cheeks that were far paler now than their usual bright pink. Her silvery hair, long but neatly cut, was tinged red at the ends, dripping as she pulled herself to her hands and knees. The blood was still there, soaking through her gloves, flecks of it decorating the legplates of her armor. It wasn’t her blood. The man just a foot or two ahead of her – that’s who it belonged to. He wasn’t a man anymore though, just a lifeless lump, a limp body. This person had been her father.

King Garon’s axe had sliced deep into his chest that had already been skewered with arrows. They made his corpse look even more grotesque to Corrin, like that of a porcupine, she thought. She and Hinoka had once teased Sumeragi for his hair that had a similar look to it. The memory felt so distant now, just a glimmer of light that was rapidly getting swallowed up by the gloom so common in Nohr. She stared at the body with two circular, red eyes, her mind trying desperately to connect the thing lying there in front of her with the image of her smiling father. She felt numb. How had this happened? She was hardly able to recall the events from a few hours prior – a conference, sitting in her father’s lap staring boredly at the strange architecture of these Nohrian buildings, one of his hands resting atop her head. The image was fading quickly from her mind.

Tears were pouring steadily from Corrin’s eyes, although her expression remained the same. The cold, creeping numbness that seemed to be overwhelming her, coming from the blood at her feet, was only interrupted by the feeling of a hand, gloved and hard, on her shoulder. She whipped her head around, strands of hair falling into her face, and directed her gaze at the man that was now looming over her.

Garon. Garon. She had heard her family speak of him enough, in distress and in uncertainty. The king of Nohr. Cruel, unpredictable. He'd invited them here for a peace conference... Looking at the man now, Corrin could only think of the word “monster”. Not for his actions, for she hadn’t fully grasped them at this point, she was too shocked. But monster, in appearance. He glowered down at her with sunken, crimson eyes. His skin was some inhuman shade of gray, creased and wrinkled, and staring at it for too long made her stomach turn as the texture appeared to be almost leathery or slimy. His facial structure itself, the way his thin flesh seemed to stick to the bones beneath, made her feel like she was gazing into the eyes of a skeleton, of someone undead.

His hand dug deeper into her tiny shoulder, like the sharp talons of a crow, and the pain snapped Corrin from her daze completely. She scurried backwards, struggling against the man’s grasp, breaking eye contact and instead maneuvering towards the fallen Sumeragi. Garon’s hand moved, clutching her forearm now, so tight that she felt that her bones might shatter. But still she struggled, her free arm moving to touch the man soaked in blood.

“Father…? Father…?!”

She nudged his body a little, and in doing so earned a particularly unsettling view of the gash running deep through his chest. Corrin whimpered and immediately fell backwards, which allowed Garon to tug her away from the corpse. “Father!! _Father_!!!”

“From now on, you will address _me_ as father,” Garon rumbled, his gravelly voice sending a wave of nausea through Corrin’s insides.

Still, Sumeragi was unresponsive.

She glanced around, frantically, feeling faint, as if she could pass out at any moment, hopefully to wake up in her bed in Hoshido. The morning of the peace conference had been overcast, so the sky was still dull and provided little light. Across from Sumeragi’s body was a thick wall of Nohrian soldiers, weapons drawn, their faces shrouded in shadow. On her side, there was Garon, tugging Corrin aside like she was a piece of trash, along with one other man who looked nearly just as inhuman as the Nohrian king. His wavy, black tresses contrasted with his glowing white skin, and covering half of his face was a golden helmet. His lips, pink and curved, twisted into a smirk as the girl made eye contact with him.

“I have what I want,” Garon said, though his voice was so distant to Corrin now. The girl’s shock was hitting her full force, sending the whole world spinning in circles and muddling her thoughts. “We will make for the capital at once.”

Corrin had very little conscious understanding of what was going on, but something within her was screaming at her to fight back, to not submit to the growing numbness in her head and the idea of passing out right there. Slowly, it took the form of Sumeragi’s voice – _Fight back_! _Corrin! Fight back!_ and she glanced again to his body as the wall of soldiers approached it.

“Come, child.” Garon didn’t turn around when giving her the command, only tugged sharply on her arm, not even concerned if he might pull it from its socket. His axe, dripping with Sumeragi’s blood, was still in his other hand, its bizarre head glinting down at Corrin as if she was its next prey.

Sumeragi’s voice grew louder, so loud that it began drowning out the rest of her thoughts. _Attack! Corrin! Move!_ Corrin staggered along, staring at the ground that was still uneven and whirling around her, feeling suddenly as though her entire body was burning with a horrible fever. She faltered more than once until Garon was literally dragging her, and he whirled around suddenly, his voice echoing through the dark alleyways: “Now, then! Hurry, child! _Move_!”

This outburst, Garon’s raised voice, the veins protruding from his forehead and neck, the closeness of his face to hers fueled whatever sort of fire was growing within Corrin and suddenly she whipped her arm from the King’s gasp – she was _able_ to – and took a few steps backwards, glaring up at him.

He gritted his teeth, stepping towards the girl in turn, and his axe was raised just slightly. Behind him, the black-haired man was watching with a narrowed eye and a look of distaste directed at Corrin.

“You disobedient thing! Sumeragi is dead! You are mine now! Obey me!”

The words did not reach Corrin. By the time the opposite end of Garon’s axe was raised into the air, her body was already contorting, her cries turning into terrible roars. Four legs balanced unevenly on the cobblestone, and a tail whipped out from behind, caving in an abandoned shop. A head emerged from the beast as well, scaly and horned. The young girl’s mind gave in completely to the primal emotions swirling madly about in her head, forgetting all about Sumeragi and Garon and acting purely on rage and distress, whipping her limps in all directions, lashing out at everyone nearby, chomping her jaws down on whatever was in her way, be it building or soldier.

Guards immediately came to Garon’s aid, but they were quickly wiped out by the dragon. More filled their place as the king retreated further down the street, passing by dark, empty homes and abandoned avenues. A soldier at his side began calling ahead for a horse. The dragon, with another screech, flattened one soldier against the ground with its tail, and tossed the other into a wall with its horns. The hushed city block quickly became a warzone as swordsmen, archers, and dark mages alike took to arms against the beast that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Despite Corrin’s complete loss of coherent thought, something animalistic drove her to follow Garon’s path down the road. She threw her weight around, tumbling into walls and buildings. The avenue was soon a wreck, full of dust and debris and splattered bodies of soldiers that hadn’t  been quick enough to avoid the dragon’s unpredictable attacks. The unfamiliar environment only set the draconic Corrin into more of a panic – the buildings were tall, stiff, and pointed, unlike anything in Hoshido; there was no warm, comforting sunlight lighting the nearby alleys, just ominous gloom that seemed to be closing in on her in all directions. Arrows zipped through the air, though they hardly seemed to faze the dragon, and any melee fighters that neared it were pummeled by its lashing tail before they could even land a hit.

Both Garon and Iago watched all of this from the plaza at the bottom of the avenue. “Well, this is an interesting turn of events, your majesty…”

The king huffed, his own lips curving upwards slightly. With his experience in warfare, he was quick at analyzing situations and accommodating for surprises such as this. “It is indeed, Iago.”

The confidence in the king’s words lifted Iago’s expression even more. “What do you plan on doing, sir…? With this… unexpected revelation.”

“Hrm…” Garon watched the dragon lumber down the street, crushing five more soldiers in its path. But despite the destruction left in its wake, it was clear Corrin was weakening. She’d taken the form of the dragon, but despite it all she was still a child in considerable shock. His men, too, had gotten more than a few hits on her. As the dragon closed in on the plaza in which Garon’s escort was waiting, the king turned to the sorcerer on his right and narrowed his eyes. “When she grows close enough, knock her out with a spell – do _not_ kill her. We’ll capture her and find a fitting home for her in the castle…”

A few of the elite guards behind the duo gasped, though they did not voice their objections for their own safety. Iago nodded, looking almost too interested in his task. With this order, Garon mounted the black stallion to his left and followed the convoy towards the city’s exit.

The dragon, having finally reached the plaza, seemed to notice this and let out a grating roar. Another wave of soldiers emerged behind the beast; with one lash of its tail, three were knocked aside, but the dragon’s pursuers were no longer its focus. Its body squirmed, wings flailing, and then it was hurtling itself forwards, ready to topple Iago and the handful of quivering guards behind him.

The sorcerer was silent, save for a few words uttered under his breath. Around his hand, there was a faint glowing, followed by a yellow circle forming beneath his feet and a purple ring of symbols materializing in front of him. Then, just as the dragon was on top of him, his body jolted, hand flying forwards in a sudden movement, and the glowing flared out. In a split second, dark, bubbly energy had encircled the dragon’s limbs and head.

The soldiers all gaped beneath their pointed helmets as the rampaging beast was, all at once, brought to a halt. It hissed as the spell grew stronger. Iago flinched slightly as it attempted to lash out, but the protruding claw slumped to the ground as the magic hindering it spiked in power again. The dragon had hardly hit the ground and passed out when Iago was strolling to its side, one bony hand rising to stroke his chin.

An uncanny silence filled the plaza. The clapping of hooves against stone faded into the distance as Garon left the city limits. Soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. This was not how the ambush was originally planned - they were not warned they would be fighting a dragon.

Suddenly, Iago snapped at them: “The dragon is coming back to Castle Krakenburg, by the king’s orders. Bind its limbs. We leave as soon as it is prepared.”

With that, the loyal soldiers fell back into formation, and the Nohrian forces departed from Cheve, with the only evidence left behind of what might have happened being the single destroyed avenue and Sumeragi's lifeless body.

-*-

The courtyard where the dragon was brought was empty save for a few of Garon’s elite guards. Even they stood facing the road, rather than the musky patch of rust-colored dirt that the monster lay in. All around them rose the spiny, oppressive walls of Windmire, and far above Nohr’s sky churned with furious clouds.

Garon promptly emerged from a tunnel, two heavily-armored guards in tow. Had they not been at the ranking they were, they would have gasped at the sight of the massive, reptilian form.

Iago swung around at the arrival, bowing deeply to the Nohrian King and withdrawing the curved smirk that had been adorning his pointed face just moments ago. “Your majesty.”

“Iago.”Garon’s eyes flicked to the dragon, no longer holding the apprehensiveness they had back at the peace conference. No, he was back to his calculating self, having had a number of nights to dwell over the new situation. Cheve was more than a few days' trip from the castle, which gave plenty of time for a possible incident with the unexpectedly large and ferocious spoils they’d been towing, but Iago had been on top of the task, weakening the dragon back into unconsciousness before it could stir and wake. “Your vigilance on the journey back was impressive.”

“I was more than happy to complete the task, your majesty. It gave me much pleasure to do so…” He turned to the dragon. There had been a few… unfortunate moments, where he had gone overboard in his dark magic, and driven the beast to near-death, though he kept the words to himself. “It was not a difficult task; this may be a dragon, but it’s a youngling. Still weak.” There was an unspoken rule between the two of them not to mention the fact that this dragon was the Hoshidan princess Corrin; the less information was let out, the better.

“Yes…” Garon chuckled, approaching the dragon. Thick chains webbed around its legs and wings. “I am very surprised Sumeragi was hiding such a creature from me.” He brought up one hand to tug on his beard as he circled back around to Iago. “However, those chains will not do. I would prefer we find a permanent residence for it sooner, rather than later.”

Iago dipped his head. “As you wish, your majesty.”

Both of the men’s gazes swept over the dragon once more. It wasn’t stirring. Their minds wandered; Garon, to the Hoshidan royalty, how they could’ve known of this, all the ways he could use it to his advantage. He would have to convene again with Anankos soon. Iago thought of how he could manipulate this feral monster and a child of the enemy into a weapon of the king’s. What Nohr lacked in resources for a war, perhaps it could make up for with this new possibility...

“We will discuss the rest of this later,” said Garon before swiftly moving back down the tunnel. The two armored guards tailed him.

Iago smiled at the dragon before turning to his own guards. “Prepare to move it again.”

 

-*-

 

“Yes, this will do…”

Iago flinched as he withdrew his scrying spell. Out of the handful of spots Garon had suggested, one seemed to be the most practical; a long spire on the lowest levels of the castle, isolated enough from the more populous areas that it could hold a dragon captive with very few issues. It may not, he supposed, have the best living conditions for a human child, but, well... he assumed Garon would have little need for the Hoshidan princess herself, when there was a much more viable option available.

The sorcerer folded up the old tome and slid it back into its place on one of the many mahogany bookshelves lining the walls of his quarters. He smiled to himself and left, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind him and sending an echo down the empty castle hall. Two elite guards stood on either side of the doorway, awaiting commands.

“I’ve found a fitting chamber. Let us make haste.”

-*-

Beads of sweat dripped from the sorcerer’s brow as he led the troupe of fifteen soldiers lower and lower into the castle. In tow was the dragon. It only took five men to lug the beast’s unconscious form across the floors, six when they hit a stairwell, as Corrin was young and her dragon form, however ferocious it was, hadn’t nearly reached its full potential. That being said, there was no doubt the scene would’ve drawn unwanted attention to the group, especially on the castle’s upper levels that were usually full of lurking nobles. Iago had recited a cloaking spell for the time being, casting it on both the dragon’s monstrous body and the chains by which it was being pulled.

As they reached the castle’s deeper levels, and any distant voices or footsteps besides their own disappeared, Iago paused, let out a huff of air, and dropped the invisibility spell. Immediately there were a few gasps from the guards closest to the dragon. He glanced back, grimacing at how weary both the long trek and holding such a potent spell for so long had made him. Taking trips back and forth to this chamber would be arduous in the future... perhaps an assistant would be useful.

Corrin still lay unconscious – she, it, may’ve well been dead, he thought. It was strange, considering he hadn’t worn down its stamina at all lately, either – perhaps he had gone a bit overboard in the last session. No matter, thought Iago – _we’re nearly there._

As his scrying spell had shown him, this section of the castle was abandoned, strewn with dust and clutter. Castle Krakenburg was such a spacious fortress that not even the most curious of Garon’s children would wander this far – although, Iago supposed with a chuckle, the most curious of Garon’s offspring were probably dead. His warring concubines were at fault for that – the three that were left, Xander, Camilla, and Leo… They were hardly a threat. The eldest two had seen too much already and would become more and more wary as they grew older. The young Leo would have a miserable rest of his childhood, no doubt, due to Garon’s disposition.

Iago paused again as the group came to the final stairwell, hidden in the shadows of the great hall. The stone frame of the doorway was falling apart, and idly the sorcerer wondered if the dragon would even fit. He swung around to address the soldiers in one graceful movement, his expression stern.

“Secure the chains, and once we get to the bottom we will…”

He trailed off upon seeing the widened eyes of his guards.

“I-it’s awake!” “Run!” “It’s alive, sir!”

The cries were cut off as a silver tail lashed out, sending three of the guards crashing into the others. A furious Iago sprung into action, readying a spell, his fingertips glowing with purple energy.

“Very good timing, Hoshidan princess…” He twitched, and the spell darted through the air towards the flailing dragon… only to miss.

With a roar, Corrin flung her enormous body out of the way, head twitching back and forth to look for the source of the attack. The spell kept flying, hitting the wall on the opposite side of the hall and turning the ornate designs printed onto it into a mess of purple and brown slime. The sorcerer was hardly able to recover before the dragon came lumbering towards him, wings spread. There was another earsplitting roar, and just as it was upon Iago he ducked to the side, crashing into another knight in the process.

The dragon kept hurtling forwards, slamming clumsily into a pillar. The soldiers gulped at the sizable crack that ran up the structure in response, before turning their uneasy gazes to Iago.

The sorcerer grimaced, readying another spell, his hands glowing with soupy dark magic. “Take it down! It mustn’t get loose!”

-*-

The soles of Azura’s feet burned as she ran blindly through the halls of Castle Krakenburg. Her breath was short, accented with a soft weep now and then. She was dressed in the same shabby Vallite dress she always wore, one that her mother had handed down to her not long after the two had arrived at Windmire. _Mother._ The word caused Azura to slow, the bare skin of her feet padding against the cold floor. A shudder of sorrow ran up her spine, and tears started to fall uncontrollably from her eyes.

“M-mother…” she whimpered, her voice shaky and weak. She attempted to muffle her sobs with a hand, and fell to her knees. “W-why did you leave me…”

The silence of this particular hallway – dark like the rest, tinted a deep violet from the windows high above – lasted only a few moments, before rapid footsteps and familiar jeering voices arose once more from back the way the young girl came. They sounded like birds, vicious, angry birds coming to pluck out her eyes. Fear pulled Azura to her aching feet once more, and she hurried onwards, swinging down another passage just as her pursuers entered the corridor.

 _When… when will it end,_ thought the girl, clutching the wavy dress in her fists and pulling it up to her knees as she sped down the stairs and around another corner. _I-I didn’t do anything… Why are they…_

“Get back here, wench!” “Running just like your whore mother?!”

Azura ignored the harsh words coming from behind her and broke into a sprint. She didn’t know what they meant. She didn’t care. She just had to run. In a stroke of luck, the next room she flew into had at least five different exits, all leading in different directions. The footsteps were getting closer – the cluck-cluck of heels on tile and the pattering of dress shoes. Panic surged through the girl’s chest and she made a break for the darkest-looking passage out of the five.

Her feet were numb, now, and combined with the lack of lighting, she skipped a step, scraping her ankle on the coarse pointed rock of the stairwell and stumbling the rest of the way down. She fought off a yelp of surprise, keeping her mouth shut even as she finally tripped on the last step and landed roughly on her knees and elbows.

A wave of dizziness washed over Azura as she lay in the darkness, tears again wetting her pale cheeks and falling to the floor. But the voices seemed to have faded, and after a few minutes there was still no movement from the stairwell.

They were gone.

Azura sighed and struggled to climb to her feet. Gradually, her golden eyes adjusted to the new lighting, and she found herself in a long, dusty corridor. The ceiling was domed, a musky yellow perhaps once the color of sunlight. The walls, in contrast, were tattered and appeared to be gray, though as she ran her hand along them for support the girl found that beneath the grime they were a faded purple.

Knowing that it would be some time before her pursuers truly gave up and went back to their quarters, Azura continued down this new passageway, absently marveling at the architecture that appeared to be much older than the rest of Castle Krakenburg. She had gotten to know the place quite well, despite her lack of popularity with the nobles, whether it was from toiling the hours away in the days after her mother’s death, or fleeing from the many cruel, leering residents of Nohr’s capital.

The girl continued wandering, the cool stone feeling nice on her sore feet. The silence of these hallways was unlike any other place in the castle, and it put her at ease. There wasn’t another soul in sight either – no one to glare at Azura, to comment on her mother, or to chase her down.

The princess was pulled from her thoughts by a sudden tremor. She staggered, falling to the ground. _What was…?_ Following this was a shriek – no, more like a roar, she thought. A monster? Her heart suddenly began to beat faster and faster, and she pulled herself up again, hurrying towards the source of the noise.

Just when the noise and movement had stopped and Azura was left wondering whether she had been hearing things, it picked up again. This cry was louder, harsher than the rest, and following it were three heavy tremors, and a handful of yells that sounded a bit more human. Her body seemed to move on its own, running until Azura entered through a magnificent old archway into a grand hall.

There, amidst the towering stone pillars and weathered banners hanging in between, was a dragon.

-*-

“Fools! Don’t let go of the chains!” hissed Iago, blasting a powerful Nosferatu out to his right that was once again dodged. Corrin might’ve been consciously avoiding his spells, or it was just difficult for the sorcerer to land a hit on her with all the writhing and jumping she was doing. But either way, they were fighting a losing battle; eight of the guards were unconscious, and only two still had a hold of the chains containing the beast.

“S-sir, we’re trying-“ the guard’s airy words were cut off by another roar. The dragon twisted its whole body, sending the chains twirling in all directions. Iago stumbled backwards, just barely avoiding one of them as it whipped around a nearby column.

He was about to bark out another order when a peculiar sight caught his eye; the sorcerer did a double-take at the small, doll-like figure standing a few yards away from the commotion, gazing on with wide, yellow eyes. Iago knew immediately the blue hair to be that of the late Queen Arete’s child, Azura. She was a scrap of a girl, neglected by everyone but those who’d do her harm; Xander and Camilla were likely too preoccupied to stoop down and comfort the foreign princess. Truthfully, Iago wouldn’t care if she went down with the rest of them, but Garon might’ve still had some use for her planned out, yet.

The other guards seemed to notice Azura’s presence as well, as Corrin grew more out of control. “Miss! You need to get out of here!” “Go!”

The girl simply stood there, dumbfounded. Iago hissed under his breath as he shot another fiery spell at Corrin, which actually hit this time – but didn’t seem to do much to her. His eyes flicked back to Azura when he noticed a soft, blue glow surrounding her.

Amidst the clashing and shouting of the battle, a hum then arose through the great hall, followed by a soft voice. All at once, man and dragon paused, their attention swinging to the singing Azura. She was gazing down at the amulet she’d always worn, holding it in the palm of her left hand, and taking unsure steps _towards_ the dragon.

“ _Y-you are the ocean’s… Gray waves…”_

“Miss!” “Step back! It’s dangerous!”

Iago watched on, his eye narrowed, hands lowered. Corrin had gone completely silent. Docile, even…

“ _Destined t-to seek… Life beyond… the shore… just out of reach...”_ Her voice wavered, and at the same time the dragon stirred, earning a few gasps from the soldiers who were shocked into stillness.

The sorcerer thought back to this girl’s mother. Arete. She was a singer, that was her amulet, passed on, apparently, to Azura. But this…

“ _Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time... The path is yours to climb…”_ As she finished the song, Azura, wide-eyed, stumbled back a few steps, as she was within range of the dragon’s claws now. Corrin began to shift and grumble; this caused the guards not yet dazed or incapacitated to point their weapons at the beast, while the less-than-able ones moved to urge the young princess away from the commotion.

The amulet’s glow intensified into a bright light that engulfed Corrin. And to Iago's surprise, the dragon began to shrink. Everyone in the room became so still that they might’ve belonged there amongst the forgotten pillars and dusty banners. The body contorted, the heavy growls turning into light breaths and gasps….

…And there, on the floor, lay Corrin, her long, silvery hair strewn messily around a soft pink face.

Iago pushed aside his utter surprise at this turn of events and his sudden interest in this power Arete’s daughter possessed, and instead focused on the soldiers, who were now taking uneasy steps backwards and glancing at one another, murmuring beneath their breath. _Not good. Not. Good._

Those gazes gradually moved towards Iago, laced with suspicion. Of course, these were not the same of Garon’s elite guard who were present in Cheve at the time of the dragon’s capture. They were mainly common castle guard, mostly naïve men wanting to protect their country, or make enough money to sustain their family... Iago scoffed.

_That takes care of one problem, at least._

“I thank you deeply,” he hummed, raising his hand once again, dark magic pulsating strongly around it, “for your service.”

With a few rapid flicks of his wrist, the soldiers fell to the ground without a sound.

-*-

Azura suddenly felt as though she couldn’t breathe. The two men that had come to her aid were now lying still on the floor, their eyes glazed over. Furthermore, that dragon… the song… everything had seemed to happen on its own and suddenly there was a girl in its place, no older than she, unconscious – did she do this? – and that man, the notorious sorcerer Iago, was picking up the dragon-turned-girl and carrying her away.

The princess stumbled after him, tripping over the cold, hard armor of one of the fallen soldiers. She wanted to speak, but she didn’t know what to say. She simply followed him.

Once he reached a pitch black stairwell tucked in the corner of the hall, he stopped, turning his head back to glance down at her. This half of his face was obscured by his brass mask, so Azura found herself staring into the blank, covered eye. “I spared you because you may yet be of help. Speak of this to anyone and you will end up like them.”

Iago had never spoken directly to Azura before; she'd heard only rumors of his malice, and occasionally his buffoonery. The two sentences, however, chilled her to the bone, had such a strong effect that he might've been casting a powerful ice spell upon her at that same time. She watched the sorcerer disappear into a stairwell and for a moment her body seemed to freeze up; then there came a cold, “Follow me,” and she stumbled forwards, wincing at the cold air rising up from the darkness.

The stairs seemed to go on for forever, and Azura soon grew short of breath. She could only catch a glimpse of the dim glow Iago's fire spell provided if she quickened her steps, but this only winded her further, so she made an attempt to pace herself. Her right hand was pressed against the stone wall; her left still clutched her mother’s amulet as she desperately prayed for the woman's protection.

Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs and caught up with Iago, Azura bumped into a mass of feathers and glanced up – Iago’s cape. He had stopped.

“ _Hnn… Hrnnnn…”_

“Damn it…! Already...?!” growled the sorcerer, moving forwards a few steps.

Azura drifted to the side to see what had happened. Iago was holding the gray-haired girl up by her arms, but… her legs were swinging, her body squirming. She had woken up.

There were a few more seconds of the two struggling before the girl shouted out in a harsh, raspy voice, “Lemme go! Lemme go!!”

Azura stood, clutching her pendant with two frail hands. What if she turned back into a dragon? At this proximity, surely she’d be tossed off the side of the walkway they’d emerged onto and down the seemingly-endless shaft below. “I…Iago…! W-what’s the meaning of this…?”

Her words went unheard as the girl continued to protest and her movements became more violent. Iago snarled in pain as a bare foot rose up and hit him squarely in the jaw, which then loosened the grip of his weak, spidery hands along her arms enough so she could wriggle free. The sorcerer stumbled back, his robes flowing with the movement, before throwing out a hand. In response, eight – no, sixteen torches, Azura counted – flared to life, illuminating the narrow walkway that broke off about halfway into the room.

 _A place like this… Why… is he…_ Azura couldn’t wrap her mind around it, so instead she kept watching, nervously inching towards the edge of the path. The spire was silent save for the grunts coming from the child and the sorcerer. No longer posing a threat as a weak and young human, Iago quickly clamped a hand around her upper arm and held his other close to her face, glowing with a readied spell. “Quiet, you!”

Still, she struggled, her wild strands of hair swishing back and forth in the torchlight. Azura fought back the urge to run, out of fear of what the already agitated Iago might do. The spell in his hand swirled, and suddenly the girl was pacified, her eyes drooping and her body limp.

Smirking, the sorcerer clutched the girl’s face with his free hand, tilting it up to face the torch. Long fingernails seemed to dig into her skin. Azura flinched, though the girl herself stared back at Iago with burning red eyes.

“So, you’ve turned back. Convenient for lugging you here without dealing with soldiers, but now I’m going to need you to transform again.” He sounded amused. Azura didn’t understand.

The girl’s ferocity quickly died, and something horrible passed over her expression before she dropped her head, causing Iago to withdraw his hand. Her hair, sleek and even, fell over her face. Azura wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard the softest murmur at that moment: “Father…”

Noting her sudden passive behavior, Iago dropped her to the ground and scowled. “I don’t have time for games, child. You will transform. Garon has not decided what to do with you yet, how we might utilize your ability, but until he does, you’ve been left to me.”

Her fingers twitched, clutching the uneven stone bricks of the walkway. Tears, glittering orange in the torchlight, fell from her cheeks and into her lap.

“Now, then. I know you are able to, and as Garon’s advisor I am very interested in that ability. Dragon hybrids are practically unheard of in Nohr... What a stroke of luck that one would come under my care.”

His tone made Azura's skin crawl.

The sorcerer’s face turned again, his brow lowering. “However, I have other duties to attend to. So you will do as I say. _Now_.”

The girl looked up at him, her hair falling away from her face. Her expression was one of complete confusion. She was so young, Azura thought. _She’s a kid. She’s like a baby._ Why was Iago taking her to a place like this...?

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…” she blubbered, crying openly now. “My father… Where is my father…? W-where am I…?”

“Sumeragi is dead,” replied Iago evenly. “I thought you knew this, child. You were there to witness it with those two peculiar red eyes of yours.”

Azura wasn’t able to stifle her gasp this time. _What?!_

“Wh… H-he…” The girl shook her head back and forth and inched backwards, out of the torchlight. “N-no…”

Still seeing no signs of the dragon emerging, Iago threw out his hands in frustration, stormed up to the girl in a wave of black and golden silk, and pulled up again, this time by her hair. Azura let out a yelp of distress and felt heat rising in her eyes. The torchlight became blurry, but she still caught the slight movement as Iago moved to dangle the girl over the edge of the walkway. “N-no!”

“Very well! Let’s measure what kind of pressure and distress is needed to drive one with your blood to transform then, shall we, child?!” As Azura moved closer to the two, her legs wobbling, she caught a glimpse of his familiar smirk, his teeth glinting in the light. “ _Now!”_

The girl began to wail and struggle, though the movements were clearly weakened by his earlier spell. She clutched her hair, and then Iago’s arm. Azura was stepping forwards, without realizing it, ready to distract the sorcerer when she got a closer look at the girl’s open mouth. Something about it was off. The teeth were… jagged… and as she stood there beside Iago it changed further, with thin, antler-like horns emerging seemingly out of nowhere on either side of her head, and suddenly there was a tail and wings, and by now the girl’s entire bone structure had changed, her hands and feet covered in black scales and becoming pointed like talons, and before the foreign princess could take another step the dragon was once again there, right in front of her.

Iago was already casting a spell, at this proximity Azura could hear the broken bits of words muttered under his breath. The dragon flailed in midair. The flapping of its wings was uneven and it lunged, digging its claws into the stone just beside Azura’s feet. She stared as this thing that was once a tiny, healthy girl growled and slowly pulled itself closer to her. At this point, the princess was too shocked even to think of her amulet.

Just as the dragon was able to steady itself in front of them, as it reared back for an attack, there was a blast behind Azura followed by a mass of energy rushing past her head, sending a few strands of her blue hair blowing out in front of her. It slammed into the dragon’s exposed underside, throwing it off balance, and for a few seconds it simply rocked back and forth on its hind legs. Then, finally, with a horrible roar, the dragon fell backwards, writhing in midair, and was swallowed up into the darkness.

The roars persisted even as the image was gone from Azura’s vision. Finally, they came to an abrupt stop punctuated by a heavy _thud_. Sickening silence followed this. Azura brought a hand to her mouth, unable to hold back her tears for the umpteenth time that day. Iago reappeared from behind her, glancing over the edge. The torch’s orange light drenched his blood-red cape of feathers, making it seem oily, almost alive, and it made the princess feel sick. She dropped to her knees, then curled up, hands rushing again to the pendant at her neck.

“Well, then,” purred the sorcerer to himself, without sparing Azura a glance. “That takes care of that, for now. Though, I suppose we’ll need a cage in the future; I can’t be at Krakenburg checking in on our new princess every day of the week, especially with the mess that’s likely to follow Cheve…”

His footsteps were clear in the silence, one, two, one, two, and Azura prayed for the man to leave. He stopped, though, at the stairwell, turning around, glaring at the blue-haired girl from beneath his mask. “I’m sure that interesting ability Arete passed down to you might be useful in the future as well… I will keep in touch, Princess Azura. And remember what I told you – remember it well.”

With that, he was gone.

Azura sat there for a while, this time, bawling to herself for a reason she couldn’t even discern. She was trembling violently, and her hands squeezed the golden necklace hanging loosely around her neck so tight that her palms might've bruised. Eventually she was out of tears to shed and simply lay on the rough stone, staring into the fire of one of the torches. Thoughts of the dragon – was it a girl? Or was it a dragon? – below roused her from her daze, though, and she sniffled, standing back up and heading to the stairs. But the princess spared a glance back as she took the first step, gazing one last time into the impenetrable darkness lying just below the stone walkway. For the first time since her mother died, she realized there might be others that had it worse than her. She was neglected, harassed, tossed aside, and alone, but she, at least, hadn’t suffered whatever fate this girl had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is totally self-indulgent, this idea hit me in the face a while back and i just had to write something to get it off my mind. it's likely gonna be pretty long b/c I have no self control and just write too much??
> 
> Since the backstory for Fates, particularly the timeline/ages/what happened prior to the start of the game is very foggy, I'll probably end up getting some facts wrong here and there, and ofc this will deviate from the game's plot anyways, so please bear with me haha.
> 
> Mainly I think Corrin's whole dragon situation could've been explored more within the game, but also I'm just a big ol slut for Nohr. that being said, there's a lot of things that won't be touched on as much in this fic as they were in the game. The story will move from when she's first taken to Cheve through the events of the game (however many years later that is)
> 
> In any case, thanks for reading :)


	2. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Garon and Iago convene; Princess Azura gets another glimpse at the girl kidnapped at Cheve.

“Iago.”

Garon addressed his flustered advisor with a nod. The heavy castle doors swung shut behind him as the sorcerer hurried to his seat.

The room the council was being held in was small, yet spacious – aside from the large stone table the dozen or so Nohrian officials were quietly seated at, there was nothing occupying the room but two bookshelves, a rack of decorative weapons, three Nohrian banners, and two large, arched windows on the far wall. They provided little light, which was why the chandelier hanging just above the table was fully lit.

Iago quickly situated himself as the eyes of the other council members fell upon him, Garon himself included. However menacing he might’ve seemed to the young Azura, among the impatient officials seated here the sorcerer looked like a greatly upset bird, with the feathers of his cloak messy and out of order. Within this solemn group was the child crown prince, wearing formal clothes that still seemed too loose on his small frame. Curls of golden hair fell just above his eyes. He was still as shy as ever, and Iago doubted he would ever earn half the respect his father had in court. A boy this timid had no business on the throne, not now nor in the far future. Not that it mattered, as a pawn like him would probably fall in combat far before he even came close to taking the throne. The slightest hint of disdain touched the youth's features as he looked his father's advisor over, and Iago picked up on this, scoffing.

“I trust nothing went wrong with the task I assigned you,” hummed Garon, reaching for a studded silver cup sitting before him. It was already half empty. The skepticism on the king’s voice almost made the sorcerer catch his breath.

“Of _course_ , my king,” replied Iago evenly. “Pardon my lateness, please,” he continued as he turned to the others. “I feel simply _terrible_ for making you all wait, but I had to complete King Garon’s special task to the best of my ability, as his advisor.”

Most of the glares directed at Iago diverted at this. A few people rolled their eyes; among them was Daniela, one of the most cunning strategists in Nohr and, to Iago’s own disdain, another frightfully powerful mage. “Now that you’re finally here, O great advisor to Garon,” she chimed, her dark eyes flashing dangerously, “I can make my report from the border.”

Daniela was newly assigned to manage Nohr’s border guard, Iago reminded himself, and was likely looking for a chance to prove herself to the king. He sat back, deciding not to pursue her instigation, and folded his hands together.

Garon nodded in her direction, not catching the murderous glance Gunter had cast his way for just a few seconds. Iago had to stifle a chuckle at this. It wasn’t that long ago, still, that the king had had that old dog's village home butchered. Yet here he was, within close quarters of Garon, as a trusted advisor. There was no doubt he was aware of the man’s animosity. Of all the stuffy officials in the room, surely Gunter was the prickliest of them all. But there was nothing the weakened man could do, except continue to be ordered around like the king’s pet.

“Hoshidan forces have been lashing out. I’ve managed to contain them all, of course, but they’re simply asking for a fight,” Daniela continued, twirling a short strand of crimson hair that protruded from her helmet with one finger. “Word must have spread quickly about our business in Cheve.”

Garon grunted. “No doubt Hoshido had spies at that conference. No matter how intricate our plan was to isolate Sumeragi… it’s those ninja that always escape us.” News of the incident with the dragon, then, Iago noticed, had not yet gotten out. If his council wasn't aware of it at this point, he figured they never would be, at least until the time was right.

“Hmm…” Daniela’s eyes were like swirling pools of blood and her gaze was once again directed towards the cloaked man. “I do believe that was Iago’s great tactical work, too…”

The sorcerer gritted his teeth behind his lips but otherwise showed no reaction at the aggravation.

“Regardless, we should plan a counterattack immediately.” Garon’s words were clear and harsh, snapping the two from their nonverbal argument and back to the meeting. "Their king is dead and Hoshido will likely be in a state of chaos for some time; we must use this to our advantage."

Gunter’s eyes passed over Iago once again without the latter noticing, narrowed in suspicion.

-*-

Azura had nearly made it to her quarters; the last stretch involved crossing the great hall in front of the throne room. She looked over herself. Her feet were red and sore, covered in scratches from the rough stone, and the scrape on her heel was barely covered by her dress’ folds. The fabric itself still boasted the same stains of dirt, though now it was also tattered along the elbows and neckline.

She gulped. No matter what, she would have to cross this chamber, so better sooner than later, should the same group she’d escaped from earlier find her once more.

Taking in a deep breath, the girl left her hiding spot behind a huge golden pillar and rounded the corner into the ballroom. It was well-lit, and while not overcrowded, there were still clusters of nobles here and there, chattering of the king's return. Many glanced her way – it was hard not to, with the unique color of her hair that stood out in the dim atmosphere of Nohr. She hurried along, though not fast enough to raise too much suspicion, and was nearly at the hallway that led to her private quarters when her numb feet caught on the hem of her dress and she toppled forwards.

Azura squeezed her eyes shut and braced for impact, but it never came; instead there was the feeling of hands on her shoulders, and a gentle push as she was brought back to her feet. Blinking, the Vallite princess glanced up, to meet the soft gaze of the oldest living Nohrian princess.

The princess had always been pretty, seemingly effortlessly so, and Azura figured that of all of Garon's lovers, as her mother had called them (not bothering to censor the king's prior, and, at the time, ongoing scandalous escapades to her still very young daughter) the one that mothered Camilla must've been the most beautiful. The girl had fair skin and smooth, curly lavender hair that fell just below her shoulders. Even though she was still so young, she had a kind and welcoming air to her that wasn’t unlike that of Arete. At the same time, though, there was a certain lack of energy behind her smiles. Arete told Azura that this girl's mother had been cruel and unkind, and didn’t love her. The foreign princess was still unable to grasp that. Mothers were supposed to be kind to their daughters, so there was no way they could be cold or abandon their children as Camilla’s apparently had. But the melancholy Azura seemed to find in the Nohrian princess's behavior seemed to imply that that was just what had happened.

“Azura, is that you? What’s wrong?”

“I-I…” Azura found herself unable to speak, thinking back to the incident in the dungeon. For a second, the feeling of Camilla’s hands on her shoulders made her think of Iago and the mysterious girl, and she shrugged away from the princess’ grasp, causing her brow to furrow further.

“Oh, dear, your feet are a mess! Where have you been?" Her attention moved downwards. "And your dress…” Suddenly her expression grew dark. “…Don't tell me... Those nobles...?”

Azura picked at a tear in her sleeve and glanced off to the side, at one of the oil paintings hanging against the walls, nodding ever so slightly. She hated being alone in the castle sometimes, truly, but even moreso she hated for others to see her in this pathetic state. Her "siblings" especially, who were told not to interact with Azura... it felt all the more awkward to suddenly have them concerned about her, to see what kind of life she was living beneath their noses.

Camilla turned around. “Felicia? Felicia, are you there?”

Out of the shadows suddenly stepped a butler. Azura jumped back in surprised.

Camilla narrowed her eyes at the boy. “Jakob…”

Azura blinked in recognition. Of course – Jakob. She didn’t see him too often, but he was one of the less-busy servants of the royals, so occasionally they would cross paths. Nobody seemed to like him. He was a sad little boy, with an uneven haircut and formal attire that was riddled with stains.

“M… my apologies, milady,” he stuttered with a deep bow. He was scowling. “Felicia broke some dishes upstairs, so I…”

“Right,” Camilla interrupted him. “I understand. Fetch me some towels and tell the others to ready the baths for Azura and I, please.”

The butler bowed once again. “As you wish.” He scurried off without another word.

“A… a bath?” Azura frowned. “Princess Camilla… I really…”

The girl turned to her with the same welcoming smile. “Don’t worry about it." Before Azura could react, the princess placed a kiss on her forehead and smoothed her hair back, a gesture that reminded the girl so much of her mother that it made her eyes well up again. “Since Father only just returned, I don't have any classes today, so I’m enjoying my day off. We can go to the baths together and pick out our favorite scents and soaps. Come on.”

The Vallite princess wasn't given time to consider Camilla's offer, as the girl quickly took her hand and pulled her off towards the stairs which Jakob had just retreated up. Camilla’s slippers made the normal click against the stone slabs, while Azura’s feet made a very distinct pat. After all the walking she’d done, her soles felt as if they were on fire, her ankles ready to give way, but she tried her best not to show it.

-*-

Later in the evening, Iago was summoned to the throne room once more. The rest of the stuffy Nohrian officials present at the council had since wandered off, and Garon was pulling himself out of his shimmering silver throne. The candles around it flickered, their light blurry in the smoke and haze that filled the hall, and the wax of many pooled on the floor around them. The crimson and golden stained glass windows circling the throne far above were dark, signaling that it was yet another gloomy night in Nohr. The few voices still audible were muffled, coming from far off rooms of the castle; the only footsteps echoing across the walls and pillars came from Garon's clinking plate shoes and Iago's scuffing leather boots.

“My king…” Iago approached the bottom of the steps and dropped to his knee, his gaze lowered to the blood red carpeting. “What do you require?”

Garon stepped passed him, waving a hand. “On your feet, Iago. I wish to discuss… our acquirement from Cheve.”

Iago did as obeyed, turning to face his king. He began to explain the highlights of his journey from the castle grounds to the dungeon, and the involvement of Azura, to which Garon greatly encouraged. However, all of a sudden there came loud footsteps from the far end of the throne room, and he looked past Garon to the swirling black doors, one of which was now creaking open. The king did the same, a scowl overtaking his expression at the disturbance.

The door opened a quarter of the way, and, after a few seconds, the crown prince stepped halfway inside, pausing and glancing downwards as he noticed Iago.

“Xander, my son.” The words were lacking severely in the compassion that you’d expect from a father, but, of course, this was Garon. Iago watched as the boy’s expression lifted a tad at the words, almost as if he had just imagined some tenderness there. He opened his mouth to speak, clenching and unclenching his hands at his side, but then Garon continued: “I’m having an important meeting with Iago right now. Do not disturb us.”

The sorcerer had to bring a hand to his lips to keep from laughing at the way the hopeful boy’s expression flipped to one of dismay and rejection. The poor thing! How long, Iago wondered, until he became conscious of his father’s true nature? Would he ever? It was pathetic. Xander bowed deeply before turning and closing the door behind him, careful not to make as much noise as he left.

“Now- where were we…” grumbled the king, turning to head towards one of the connected rooms. His axe clicked against the ground as they walked. “I have given it consideration. For now, test the strength of Corrin’s dragon form in the way you believe would work best. Should something go wrong, I will send supervision. However, I _believe_ you _should_ be capable of handling just this, for now.”

“Yes, my liege,” Iago said coolly, folding his hands behind his back. As they left the throne room dotted with candles behind, the lighting became darker, with only wall lanterns webbed in black designs to highlight each of their intricate uniforms.

“She is still but a child, so perhaps we must wait for her to develop fully before her dragon form will reach its peak condition. Then, however, we could use her on the battlefield… an intelligent hybrid with abilities such as hers would be nearly unstoppable if used properly.”

Iago hummed along in agreement.

“However, that time is far off. For now, we must simply assure that she is able to grow as strong as possible. Measure her abilities as they develop. Strengths, weaknesses… When the dragon has reached adolescence, she can be put into war training.” He stroked his beard with one black, clawed hand.

Their conversation continued, circulating mostly around Hoshido, but also on internal affairs; Garon had concerns about Gunter's loyalty still, and now that a war was likely there would be even more shortages and famines (which meant little to those living in the castle, but towns outside Windmire would be even more affected than usual), which meant more unrest within the Nohrian population. The duo moved further through the castle as they chattered quietly, and eventually reached the large mahogany door leading into Garon’s private quarters.

“So, then, my task until then…?” Iago questioned.

“I will inform you if plans change or develop. Likewise, you should report to me routinely with updates on Corrin's condition. I need time... to deal with Hoshido and to convene with Anankos. For now, be sure she does not escape. Allow her to become familiar with her dragon form... but do not leave her in that condition for too long until we know what kind of effect it might have on her." He narrowed his eyes at his advisor. "I cannot have this new opportunity slip from my fingers because of some simple mistake, Iago. Do you understand? And for the rebellious Hoshidan spirit that undoubtedly  still lies within her…” Garon grimaced, as if he had eaten something sour. “It must be extinguished. The war training will be all for naught if that child still sees herself as a princess of an enemy kingdom.”

Iago nodded. “As you wish, my king.”

-*-

Azura felt like a princess again.

The entire evening, Camilla had her more or less held captive in the castle bathing chambers, the two being doted on by a dozen or so servants. The maids, nurses, and healers swarmed about the white tiled floor which quickly became blanketed in a thin sheet of steam, asking Azura question after question about her condition, particularly her damaged feet. The girl was shown all sorts of luxurious scented bathing oils, with Camilla insisting that she be treated with Nohr's finest after the abuses she'd endured. After picking out a floral scent that reminded the girl just faintly of her mother, the two were shown to a huge pool styled, Camilla said, after Hoshidan hot springs. The warm, humid air surrounding the baths felt wonderful on Azura's dry skin, and she told the Nohrian princess this much; the girl then grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her towards the closest pool. "Just wait till you feel the water, Azura, dear!"

Azura wasn't sure when her last hot bath was, so the temperature was uncomfortable at first. As time went on, however, and Camilla began to chat about mundane things, and Azura listened, and the fragrant scents clouded the room, and the traffic of maids faded, the Vallite princess finally began to relax. She even giggled along at some of the stories the girl sitting across the pool of dark water told her. Without her dark, intimidating, ornate outfits and the oppressive background of the sullen castle corridors, she seemed much more like a normal girl and not the eldest daughter of King Garon.

The conversation moved Azura's way; "What've you been up to, dear?" Immediately she became uncomfortable and began swirling patterns in the water with her hands. Camilla didn't pursue the subject, instead swimming over to the girl, gathering up her stringy blue hair, and offering to wash it for her. "This is my personal favorite wash. But, oh, the rose-scented oil is nice, too. The lavender goes best with my hair, I think, but this one would work well with yours, not to mention make it easier to manage. You have such long hair, Azura, you know?"

She chattered on absently, with Azura dropping in a few words here and there.

When what felt like hours had passed, and Azura felt truly as if the weight of the day's events had washed away, Camilla commented suddenly on the prunes that had formed on her fingers. "Gods, it's late! Father will be furious if he found me out wandering in the halls at this hour, wouldn't he... We should get going, Azura."

Reluctantly, the foreign princess nodded and rose from the tub. When the two had dressed and were moving to leave the bathing chambers, Camilla glanced down at the girl's tattered robes and widened her eyes.

"Find me again soon, Azura," said the princess with a smile, placing one hand on the smaller girl's shoulder encouragingly. "My wardrobe is simply overflowing with clothes. We can try on different outfits together."

"B-but..." She looked up hopefully. "I'm not..."

Camilla moved to the doors, turning her head around once more to smile warmly back at her estranged sister. "Come on now, Azura. We can't have a princess of Nohr running around in a dress that worn-out, can we?"

With that, she slipped out of the steam-filled room, a rush of cold air blowing in from the adjacent hallway. Azura allowed herself a small, cautious smile. Even if it was just for a few hours, she was happy to feel as if she was a princess again. She thought back to the last time she'd been given such treatment, and could only think of the evenings spent with her mother. Perhaps there was hope for a failure of a princess such as herself, after all.

-*-

The next morning came too quickly, with Azura waking once more in her cold, empty room. Camilla’s tight schedule began again now that Garon was back in the castle. Azura resumed her toiling. Days were spent thinking about her mother, singing in the halls, hiding from the more aggressive nobles, and watching her “siblings” go about their daily affairs from afar.

It was a few weeks after the initial incident that Iago approached Azura again.

“Princess Azura,” his voice trapped her in place, like a terrible venom paralyzing her limbs and preventing her from escaping. “Wandering all alone again? You should know that doing such a thing is dangerous.”

She’d been looking for a quieter part of the castle to practice singing again, without venturing too far so as her feet would get sore again, as they had only just healed. It was one of the rare days in which the sun was shining outside, casting long, sharp shadows across Windmire's landscape, so Azura had wandered into one of the castle’s many courtyards and gotten lost in the maze of stiff, bare trees.

“Iago…” she murmured. “U-um… C-can I help you…”

He seemed to be alone, which was strange, Azura realized – the sorcerer always seemed to be accompanied by either the king himself, or a number of guards. Her thoughts flicked back to that scene in the lower hall, after she had followed Iago up the winding stairwell… The pile of corpses haunted her memories and plagued her dreams, the gray skin, bloated fingers, eyes rolled back and glazed over… In just a matter of minutes the bodies of the soldiers seemed to have liquefied within the iron shells that once served as armor. The sorcerer had stopped before the mess, glancing down at a trembling Azura, and then, with a single wave of his arm, incinerated all fifteen or so guards, leaving nothing but ashes that sunk into the fractured floor.

“You can indeed, child. Your magic can be of use to me once more. If you would…” he left her with no choice in the matter, gesturing for her to follow him back through the courtyard and into the castle. They walked for a long time, and Azura’s feet got sore again. They didn’t pass many people, but those that they did averted their gazes when they recognized Iago.

Eventually, the scenery became familiar to her. Hauntingly so. The jagged stone stairway, the grand hall soaked in amber light, and that menacing tunnel that made her hands snap up to the pendant around her neck.

“Come then, child,” Iago coaxed, and suddenly Azura was aware of a buzzing irritation in her head, the source of which was the sneering black-haired man in front of her. “Do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” she barked defensively. Immediately the princess raised her eyebrows and brought a hand to her mouth. “I-I’m sorry…”

The sorcerer scoffed, but said nothing and instead began his march down the stairs. As long as she behaved, he supposed, there was no problem.

When at last the two found themselves on the dilapidated stone walkway, Iago moved to the edge and gazed into the yawning darkness of the spire, envisioning his destination in his mind. Then, with a quiet incantation, there was a flash, and both the sorcerer and the girl found themselves at the very bottom of the spire; Azura gasped.

The floor was circular and just as eroded as the rest of the spire, although the braziers that lined the walls seemed new. It was well-lit enough, at least, that she could see from her end of the room to the opposing wall, which was around a hundred or so feet away. Azura and Iago stood against the wall; just a few yards ahead rose thick, metal bars, disappearing into the darkness not far above. The crosshatch pattern, Azura realized, was not unlike that of a jail cell. Aside from this, the room had very few features; there was a small opening, probably an entrance to a sewer, and a rope dangling down along the spire's perimeter that likely led back up to the entrance.

Suddenly, Azura’s golden gaze landed on the figure in the center of the room. A bizarre, yet familiar shape. She gasped. “T-that’s…”

“That’s right,” hummed Iago matter-of-factly. “The dragon.”

She instinctively took a step back.

“Oh, rest assured, Azura, it can’t hurt you. The bars are magically reinforced.”

She clutched her mother’s pendant. “I-I don’t know… what that…”

He scoffed. “It will hurt to touch them. And I’m sure _it’s_ already aware of that…”

As if the dragon heard Iago, it suddenly rose from its statue-like state and darted forwards, ramming into the bars right in front of the two. Azura cried out and fell backwards onto the hard stone floor; Iago himself let out a yelp of his own. However, the dragon then shrieked and recoiled, waving its head back and forth.

The sorcerer let out a long chuckle. “See? Absolutely nothing to worry about, child. But you mustn’t touch them either – for someone of your size I’m sure it would be lethal.”

Azura bit her lip as she got back to her aching feet, staring at the caged beast. It had sprung forwards so quickly, yet now that she had a closer look there were still four chains on each of its legs.

“Now, for the reason I brought you here – I’ll need you to use that power once more, Azura, to transform this dragon back into its human form. Can you do that?”

Azura didn’t understand anything, and was starting to get a headache. She wanted to leave. She wanted to go back to her quarters, or to the gardens and sing. Anything to get away from Iago.

So she obeyed, singing her mother’s magical song to the best of her ability. And as it had before, the amulet lit up, and the dragon reacted, shrinking back into the form of a small girl again.

Iago expressed little gratitude, and instead teleported inside of the cage. For a few minutes, she was pacified, not paying any mind to the cloaked man circling around her. He was speaking, in a hushed tone but not quite the whisper he used when casting a spell, and Azura couldn't understand what he was talking about. Then, suddenly, the girl became extremely upset, shouting out and crying and charging at Iago. He skillfully dodged her attacks, chuckling all the while - the sound was terrible, mixing with her anguished cries and echoing through the spire. Just as he had teleported himself back outside the cage, she tackled the spot he had been standing, strands of messy grey hair falling into her face.

Azura averted her gaze as soon as she realized that the girl was once again transforming. The cries she made, that devolved into roars, hurt her chest for reasons she couldn’t understand. Who was this girl? Why was she here? Iago appeared to be most satisfied with this, however, nodding to himself and twisting a strand of his hair between two fingers.

“Good work today, child.” His deep voice was nearly drowned out by the dragon’s furious roars. It was slamming itself almost rhythmically into the side of the cage, causing the bars to vibrate and rattle. “I’ll teleport us both up, then, Azura. That is all for now.”

In a blink of light, the roars became distant and distorted by the spire walls. Azura stumbled back and forth – the spell sent a wave of nausea through her. By the time she had recovered, Iago was already disappearing up the stairwell, torch in hand. The Vallite princess bit her lip, but did not dare look back off the edge. Gathering up her skirts in her hands, she hurried after the sorcerer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah, Daniela is in fact an actual character in-game that appears in like, one chapter and has like a single line. I totally forgot she existed until I was skipping around the wiki one day. she has a cool design though and I hope I did her some justice.
> 
> Camilla and Azura don't really interact in the game since they don't have supports, but I have a feeling she'd still adopt the hell out of her like she did with Corrin.


	3. Salvage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Azura's 'work' with Iago continues.

" _Flowing like time, the path is yours to climb..."_

Azura's voice reverberated through the empty ballroom, punctuated by a heavy sigh. Night was setting in, and soon the dim light that allowed her to wander in the unfrequented corners of the castle would fade away completely. Iago hadn't yet visited her today, which she found strange, as the trips down to the dungeon had become routine, usually with one in the mid-morning, and one at dusk. She'd wandered a bit farther than usual today, but with whatever method he had of tracking her down, she figured that wouldn't make a difference.

The girl kneeled, tracing her finger along the swirling red patterns etched into the floor. How many dances had been hosted here? Princes and princesses twirling about happily, while nobles drank and chatted on the sidelines? She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what kind of upbeat waltzes and folk tunes would've been played to accompany such an event. These were the things princesses were _supposed_ to do, that Princess Camilla probably did, and Prince Xander as well, if he wasn't always buried in training and studying. She supposed she would never be given that opportunity. Even if she were accepted in the castle, she was still a princess of the invisible kingdom, Valla. She didn't know what the customs and traditions were there. Did she really belong anywhere, if not Nohr or Valla? Azura sighed again, drifting towards the exit.

The adjacent corridor was long and winding, the ceiling stretching far above her head. Huge windows rose up from the floor to her right, offering a view of the castle's twinkling exterior, and the pointed spires of Windmire beyond. She moved to one, resting her hands against the panes. _At least I have this,_ she figured with a frown. _That girl doesn't know anything except the dungeon, and darkness._

Caught up in her thoughts, Azura failed to notice the figure that had melted out of the shadows behind her. It was only when a large hand covered her mouth that she was snapped from her daze and began to flail - but it was too late, as he'd already bound her hands and feet. The princess turned her head to look at her attacker, but he no sooner shoved a cloth bag over her upper torso, sending her into even more of a panic.

The man heaved the fragile girl up over his shoulder and broke into a sprint. Azura stopped her futile movements, feeling ill. Her muffled cries of "let me go!" turned into anguished sobs. Why her? Wasn't she already so unimportant to the royalty? An outcast? _No one will care that I'm gone,_ she thought. _No one will come looking for me... Oh, Gods... Mother..._

She tensed as the man took another few turns, his breath growing heavy. She hadn't the slightest idea of where they were headed. He cursed under his breath, slowing for just a moment; enough for Azura's ears, covered as they were, to pick up on more footsteps, growing closer by the second. The thief stopped, his grip on her knees tightening, before he jumped and then went silent. Azura herself quieted down, perhaps due to the tension, not thinking to cry out for help.

The second pair of footsteps slowed until Azura was sure this person was in the same room as them. A heavy silence fell between the two, then, she heard a horribly familiar voice: "I'm going to need to ask you to return that girl to me."

Iago.

The man holding Azura tensed up. Was he... hiding?

"Who might've sent you...? Hoshido, perhaps? I can't imagine any other reason one might wish to kidnap the princess of least worth. Unfortunately for you, King Garon still has some use for her."

A quiet growl came from Azura's assailant, but still, he stayed silent.

"And how do you plan on escaping?" The footsteps drew closer. "I don't suppose you wish to walk out the front gates, princess in hand."

All of the sudden the man shook violently and cried out. His grip on Azura loosened, and the girl fell to the ground. "Y-you!"

There was more shuffling. A snap, and a quick whistle - a bow and arrow? Iago, drawing closer, grunted, and again there was the crackle of electricity. The man, or, judging by his voice, boy, perhaps, cried out again, staggering away from Azura. Another arrow flew, followed immediately by two more; then his light footsteps picked up, grew further away. He was fleeing.

"Get back here!" Iago roared, his footsteps quickly fading down the hallway as he pursued the man. By now, though, the lighter ones had faded completely; without the burden of Azura's flailing form, he must have managed to melt back into the shadows he came from and make his escape.

"Azura!"

Two more voices entered the fray, and, after some panicked shuffling, the bag was removed from Azura's head. She blinked, making out two familiar faces in the darkening passageway; Princess Camilla and Prince Xander. The two were half-siblings, and their appearances always seemed to reflect this fact, Azura found; however with both of them looking down at her like this, eyes wide, curls of hair falling over their faces like curtains, they could've been twins.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and sat up. "I-I'm fine... How did you two find me...?"

Xander grimaced, the expression immediately separating his appearance from his sister's once more. "Iago found us earlier and told us to follow him." He got to his feet and turned to look after the man, fists clenched at his sides.

Camilla leaned forwards, pulling Azura into a hug. The foreign princess didn't know how to react, so she merely sat there, accepting the embrace, leaning her weight onto her arms. "Oh, thank the Gods you're okay, little Azura. I'll never let anyone take you from us. You don't deserve this."

A sudden heaviness set itself on Azura's chest, and a sob escaped her lips, much to her own surprise. Before long, she was weeping quietly once again, Camilla patting the girl's blue hair. The Nohrian princess' fear for Azura shifted, turned into rage, and she found herself clenching her jaw, arms tightening around the girl. _Father always told us to avoid Azura,_ she thought with an amount of malice unfamiliar to her. _But Father is not here right now. It's just me and Xander, and that dog Iago. Father was never here, not even for our mothers._ She squeezed the girl perhaps a bit too hard, as she tensed, and quickly Camilla backed off, instead stepping over to Xander, gaze scanning over her brother's expression. He was angry, too, but not at Father, she knew. Never with Father. Frustration bubbled in Camilla's stomach, but she said nothing, instead making a silent vow to offer some sort of comfort to Azura to the best of her ability from now on.

Light continued to retreat from the castle halls, and the trio, accompanied by a very frustrated Iago, tromped back towards the main chambers. The sorcerer fumed on and on about the intruder, how he'd gotten inside, how incompetent the guards must have been, how King Garon would have his head had Azura been taken away. Camilla could only assume the thief came from the lively tunnels beneath Windmire, which she'd explored dozens of times before, but was smart enough not to speak about this to one of the most powerful and influential members of the Nohrian royal council. Xander begrudgingly agreed with Iago's sentiments, but dared not to make it known to the man. At one point he noticed Azura's rolling bare feet and offered to carry the girl on his back, but she declined.

Night had set in by the time the four reached the castle's main floors. Travelers and nobles danced about from room to room beneath the warm light of the chandeliers as if nothing was wrong in the world. The air was heavy with the smell of fresh bread and cabbages and spices and pork, and jaunty tunes drifted past the royal children's ears. But they remained unaffected by the lively atmosphere, still too unsettled by the kidnapping attempt. It was at this point that Iago split off, heading to the throne room in a flurry of dark robes and scarlet feathers, leaving Xander, Camilla, and Azura, still gripping the older princess' hand, to be swarmed by cooing partygoers.

-*-

Azura's visits to the spire-turned-dungeon continued. Each occasion in which Iago materialized from behind a pillar or around a corner came as an unpleasant surprise to the princess. Not that there was something he would have been interrupting. Her life at Krakenburg was uneventful at best. Xander was buried in work; Camilla, much the same, with her time in the castle consumed in either lessons, training, or doting over her younger brother - and, now, apparently her younger sister, too, whose birth had only now become known to the public. Leo was much too engrossed in following around his big brother, as well as burying himself in the library, to take interest in Azura.

As time passed, the visits to the dungeon became less frequent. She had been told, or rather, overheard, as Iago was fond of talking to himself, what exactly he was doing all this for, what he was “studying”, but the young princess still didn't quite understand. He wanted to measure her combat abilities, the limits of her transformation, and so on. He tried giving her orders - attack this, run a few laps around the perimeter of the cell - but the girl was understandably rebellious and it sometimes took unpleasant persuasion from Iago to get her to cooperate. If she was too greatly upset, though, she would transform, which made things all the more frustrating for the sorcerer.

She was also questioned on her memories. From what Azura could understand, she didn't even know she could turn into a dragon, that she had been doing so on and off for weeks now. Whenever Iago asked about events prior to being brought to the dungeon, the girl would go silent. Curiosity gnawed at Azura.

All she had to do was sing. The foreign princess spent much of her free time preoccupied, thinking about her mother’s song and her family’s history, going over every detail she'd been told as a child about Valla. She never spoke to anyone of the imprisoned dragon, though, and Iago didn’t have to remind her not to. Camilla, Xander, and recently Leo inquired often about what she was up to when they were fulfilling their duties as heirs of Nohr. They assumed her secrecy only meant that she was being harassed by nobles again, which wasn’t exactly untrue, either, though for some reason many of them had backed off in their insults after the kidnapping incident.

The dragon mystified Azura. She felt pity for the girl, of course, but layers of fear prevented it from manifesting in anything more than a woeful glance at the figure in the cell.

One evening, the dragon's outburst was the worst she had ever seen.

“Well! Something has certainly upset you, this afternoon,” Iago said, disdain laced within his otherwise pleasant tone. He proceeded to observe the dragon’s harsh movements for what felt like hours. At last, as it was getting worn down, he signaled for Azura to sing. The dragon transformed again, and the girl was back, crumpling against the ground. The princess noticed that her hair was a little less even and sleek than when she’d first seen her in this form, and her body was frailer beneath the clunky plates of silver armor that wrapped around her.

Iago wasted no time in entering the cell. He stroked his chin, and then began to taunt the girl.

“Yes – your father is dead. Don’t you remember, Corrin? Garon filled him with arrows and cleaved his chest in two.”

Azura's stomach turned. Is that what had happened to this girl’s family? Murdered... by the _king_?

The dragon-girl snarled, running at Iago. The sorcerer waited until the last second, when the tiny thing was upon him, to sidestep, and nearly she tumbled into the side of the cage. He hummed to himself, and then persisted: “Perhaps we’ll do the same to your mother, Mikoto. Sweet Mikoto. Do you remember her? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your mother's face?”

There was another growl from the girl that caused Azura to flinch even outside the cage. She charged again, and Iago sidestepped again. The princess wanted to leave, all of a sudden. So much that she might’ve been willing to climb that rope.

As the girl – Corrin? – recovered, there came a faint murmur that Azura recognized as Iago beginning an incantation. A spell of some sort. She didn’t know anything about magic, but this one was taking a while. Corrin was still, hunched over – and suddenly she fell onto her knees and began to wail.

Iago lowered his hands, residual magic fading from them. “Ah. Is your memory clearer, now?”

Azura stirred, agitated. What did he do, what did the spell do, to make her change all of a sudden like that?

The sorcerer started to close in on the girl again. Then, in a swift movement she leapt to her feet, swung her arm as if going in for a punch, and… and her hand contorted, extended, into a sharp point resembling the lances she’d seen Xander and the other knights training with now and then. Azura's eyebrows shot up, and she nearly moved to grasp the bars of the cage before remembering the enchantment on them.

The black spear shot forwards with a _whip_ , and Iago, despite his swiftness, was not fast enough; it brushed his side, cutting open the skin beneath his arm and piercing a hole through his cloak. He went pale. Corrin's expression was angrier and full of more emotion than it ever had been, her red eyes shining with tears that spilled across her pale cheeks, her eyebrows scrunched together, baring her teeth not just as a cornered animal would, but as someone who was in genuine pain.

Slowly, the lance receded, reshaping back into a black gloved hand.

Iago teleported out in a hurry, though the rush was unneeded; Corrin collapsed and did not move.

When he reappeared a few feet away from the princess, his breathing was heavy, but still his lips were curved up into a smirk. His mask seemed to be glowing as he leaned beside one of the braziers.

“Interesting…”

Azura’s gaze moved to the unmoving girl.

“Let’s go, child. I’ve held you long enough…” The familiar hum that came with the teleportation spell started up but Azura did not move.

“I’ll take the rope up, today,” she said, perhaps a bit too coldly.

Iago paused, his eye narrowing down at Azura. But he didn’t object, and within a few more seconds he was gone in a white blink of light.

Cautiously, Azura approached the cage.

“Excuse me… Excuse me?”

No response.

“M-my name is Azura. Who are you?”

Still, nothing. Azura frowned, but her heart was telling her that this girl needed comfort, so she continued.

“Your... your name is Corrin?"

At last, a noise came from the figure – very soft weeping. Azura stepped back. All of a sudden, she saw herself within this cage. The bars became the castle walls, Iago became the nobles, and the young girl became her. The sorrow she initially felt when her mother passed hit her all at once again, and Azura felt her lower lip begin to tremble on its own.

Corrin sniffled, turning on her side to face away from the onlooker and curling into ball.

For a few more minutes, Azura stood there, staring at the bars. Up close, they were visibly laden with magical energy, glowing a faint blue and pulsating slightly. Was there truly nothing she could do? She clutched the pendant at her chest, and then turned away, finding the rope in the darkness and beginning her long journey back to the surface.

-*-

Perhaps she had been overconfident in her own strength, as by the time she made it to the walkway far above, her arms were screaming and her hands boasted a messy collection of blisters. The cold, gray stone offered some relief, but deep down she knew she needed to see a healer, or risk infection. By the time she reached the castle's keep once more, she'd decided on searching for medicine herself, as the idea of running to Camilla every time she had a problem still felt foreign to her. The royal family had all sorts of luxuries despite Nohr's apparently dismal state and constant shortages, so she was certain she could find some sort of help for herself.

Azura had managed to dodge all of the maids and butlers on her way through the different chambers, until at last she came across something resembling a storage room. She failed to realize, however, that she'd wandered too far up; that the violet banners hanging from the walls, side-by-side with portraits of older men and women, were one of the defining traits of the crown prince's chambers. The bountiful closet before her was the private stock of commodities for the royal children. It just so happened that Xander was on his way back to his room, a heavy text on Nohrian history cradled in one of his arms, his eyelids drooping uncharacteristically, a yawn threatening to break through his proper countenance as it was late in the afternoon and the council meeting had taken longer than usual.

He thought he might've been hallucinating when he spotted the blue-haired princess there, barring his way to his chambers at the end of the hall. "Azura?"

The princess jumped, her head swinging to the side, sending her hair flying out behind her. "Ah...!"

She stood there, cowering, as Xander furrowed his brow and approached her. "What are you doing here? Did something happen? You know Father would be upset to find you in this part of the castle..."

"I..." Azura folded her hands together, the movement causing the blisters to burn. Xander did not miss the girl's wince, as her features squeezed together in pain. "I apologize..."

The prince's gaze moved down, spotting the unsightly state of Azura's hands. "Gods, what's happened?" Perhaps it was his exhaustion that brought down his stoic barrier. "Do you need a healer?" he questioned, eyes flicking over to the storage closet.

"Um, just some medicine would be enough..." Azura cursed herself for her foolishness. She may have sneaked through here enough times with Camilla, but Xander was a different case - loyal to a fault, his sister had said, much closer with King Garon than the rest of them. Surely, he'd tell his father and Azura would be punished...

The prince turned on his heel, opening a few doors back the other way, calling a little too urgently for a servant. Promptly, a butler emerged from the stairs, eyeing the scene from beneath his gray bangs carefully, like he was about to be hit in the face. "Milord...?"

Xander sized up the boy, who was around his age. "You're... Jakob, yes?"

"Yes," replied the butler, his voice devoid of emotion. "I apologize, but most of the others are busy tidying the dining rooms."

"No matter," the prince said, moving back over to Azura, who'd since accepted her fate. "My sister is hurt. If you could heal her, please."

Jakob tensed for a moment, his eyes drifting between the prince and Azura. "...Yes, milord."

The foreign princess was then guided into an adjacent room and seated on a velvet couch. The floor was cluttered with unused furniture, and dust was stirred up from the striped lavender cushions and deep brown leather as the three moved about. Jakob fetched a stave from the closet, along with some sort of pasty herbal substance and a bucket of cool water. All the while, Xander asked her questions she couldn't dare to answer.

"Azura, why can't you just tell me?" His words were tight, voice raising, and the princess flinched.

"I... I can't," was her meager response.

The prince seethed in frustration, pacing back and forth through the empty lounge, more upset with himself than with the princess. At last he stopped at one of the windows, hands clutching the stone frame. Outside, the usual cover of swirling clouds filled Nohr's sky, and the streets of Windmire were sprinkled in glittering orange lights. If only there was more he could do. He was still so weak and powerless, he thought, even though he would someday rule over the city before him and all the lands beyond it. _This is why Father didn't want me or the others around her, isn't it...?_

On the couch, Azura gasped as Jakob began casting a healing spell on her bleeding hands. He winced and muttered an apology.

Xander's mind wandered. What had Azura been up to? Iago seemed awfully partial to the girl lately, which only made the prince's skin crawl. He made a mental note to ask Father what that was about, the next time they had a conversation going.

He turned back to the corner of the dusty room, where Jakob was still working on Azura's first hand. The butler sweat beneath the prince's scrutinizing gaze. "I apologize, Lady Azura, Lord Xander, just a moment more."

When at last the task was done, Azura stretched her fingers and allowed herself a smile. "It feels wonderful, Jakob. Thank you." She tried meeting his gaze, but his eyes were still drilling holes into the ground.

"Jakob," spoke Xander all of the sudden. His arms were crossed, a pose that made him look much older than he actually was. "I'd like for you to look after Azura from now on."

This was enough to jolt the butler's head up. "Erm, Lord Xander...?"

"You're not assigned to anyone in particular, are you? Camilla and I can't spend as much time with Azura as we wish to, and as much as my father favors Iago I can't trust him, either. Serve her as if she were any of us." Xander puffed out his chest. "This is an order, as crown prince."

Jakob rose to his feet, his mouth hanging open. "I... If that is what you wish, Lord Xander..."

The prince nodded. "Azura."

"Ah... yes, Prince Xander...?"

Silence stretched out between the three as he thought out his words carefully. "If I were able to, I would do more to help. You know that."

The girl dipped her head, her attention moving back to her other hand as Jakob took it in one of his and began healing again. "It's alright. I understand." Her voice was low, and perhaps came out more bitter than she intended, as Xander glanced away briefly before muttering a goodbye and striding out of the room.

The smallest sigh of relief escaped Jakob's pursed lips as the sound of the prince's footsteps faded. He barely took notice of it, but to Azura the motion dispelled the buzzing tension filling the room, and she hummed to herself in amusement. The butler was pouring his attention into healing her right hand, and the task was going fairly better than the first had, although it was clear from his furrowed brow and the beads of sweat running down his face that Jakob had little confidence in his work.

"Thank you, Jakob. I am feeling much better... and it's good to know I will have someone around, even if the prince did just order you to do so." She withdrew her hand, glancing away shyly. "I only hope it will not be too much of a burden, to have to look after me."

The boy shook his head, causing some of his messy bangs to fall into his face. "If anything, it is I who will be the burden, milady. Prince Xander didn't say it outright, but if I wasn't assigned to you just now, well, I'd likely be thrown out sooner or later, with how... unimpressive my skills are."

She sighed, folding her arms. Despite the prince's gracious offering of one of his family's dozens of servants - the only one, probably, that didn't have some kind of distaste for Azura, probably due to his own rejection within the castle's ranks - the foreign princess couldn't bring herself to respect him any more. She didn't allow herself to feel relief, realizing that, more likely than not, Xander would go and report the whole ordeal to his father, making even more of a mess of things. Her chest ached with disdain. The great crown prince, nothing more than his father's pawn, trying to take pity on her.

"Well, then, I suppose I should gather my belongings..." Jakob turned to leave, his worn leather boots scuffing against the floor, then stopped. "Erm, is there anything else you need, Lady Azura...?"

The girl permitted herself a small smile. Servant or not, the idea that she may have a new companion to help her through her lonely days was inviting. And surely, the princess would be able to assist him in refining his own skills, if he allowed her to. "No, thank you, Jakob."

 


	4. Powerless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship grows quickly between the dejected Nohrian princess and the lost Hoshidan princess; the children of King Garon grow more curious of Azura.

"Father!"

Xander strode across the throne room, brow knitted together, eyes rimmed in gray. At the foot of the throne, before the thick, curling roots that coated the walls on either side, was Camilla, who had swung around at the sudden outburst. Further up, Iago was leaning down as though muttering something into Garon's ear as usual, but he turned his head to catch a glimpse of the upset prince, too. The king, facing forwards in his seat, held a stoic expression as he met his son's gaze.

It was late, for two children at least. Many of the candles set out for the day were waning. Camilla would've been in bed, herself, had she not been summoned to speak with her father about training. The council meeting, fruitless as it was, had ended, and each member, including the crown prince, sent off to their quarters.

"Speak, Xander."

The boy had to pause to catch his breath at the foot of the stairs, and Camilla moved aside, watching both her brother and her father carefully from beneath her wavy bangs.

Xander's mouth opened, but when he caught a glimpse of the sorcerer whose presence seemed to become less and less respectable with each passing day, his words caught in his throat.

"Speak!"

"C-could we have some privacy, Father?" He nodded at the mage.

"Iago is my most valuable advisor." The words, hard and infallible, caused Xander to falter. "You should trust him with everything. Now, out with it."

The prince withheld a sigh. His father's voice had calmed him some, and so he spoke in a more proper tone. "He's been with Azura a lot lately, hasn't he? What is the reason for this? I thought she was of no concern to us..."

Garon's eyes widened, and the look of utter shock that came over his sunken features was perhaps the most emotion the prince had seen on his father's face in quite some time. He turned to the advisor in question, and urgently hissed, "Iago, you..."

"I've done nothing wrong," retorted the sorcerer. "My business with Azura is of no concern of yours, Prince Xander. But I will tell you now that all of my actions are for the betterment of Nohr, if my role as your father's advisor is not enough reason to believe this. If I do remember correctly, you are not even supposed to be convening with her. Nor is Princess Camilla. You may be the crown prince, but you are still a boy, young and unexperienced. If you ever wish to live up to your father's legacy, you should not waste your time in such menial suspicions such as what I do with my free time, and put more of an effort into your own training and studies, considering how much you have struggled with them in the past."

Camilla turned a bright shade of pink and glared at her reflection in the floor at the mention of her secret time spent with Azura. After a few seconds of silence, she spared a sympathetic glance towards Xander, feeling the effect of the sorcerer's harsh words even when not directed at her.

Garon, meanwhile, had settled down, and folded his hands in his lap, the heavy gauntlets clicking with the movement. "Iago speaks the truth. Do not concern yourself with such things, boy, or you will be punished the next time. You are a prince. I expect you to behave like one. Now, do not interrupt me for something so trivial again."

Xander stood there, glued into place, feeling as if ice had spread out from his heart and encased all of his limbs so that all he could do was gawk at Iago's newly formed smirk. _But she was hurt. But she was too scared to say what happened. But I can't trust Iago_ . His father's echoing voice fought against these thoughts, searing them into ash. _He is my father. I trust him. I'll learn. When I'm older, I'll understand. I am a prince. He is the king._

It was only a brief tap on his shoulder that drew him out of his trance enough to urge his legs to move, and the prince followed his sister back out the way he came, dazed.

"What was that about?" demanded Camilla once they were a good distance away from the doors, taking a quieter route back to the royal quarters rather than the usual one across the center of the keep. Xander observed the girl's twisted features, the rage swirling in her eyes, finding that he'd never in his life seen her this upset before, besides the time Azura had nearly been kidnapped. "Mentioning her out of the blue like that?! What are you thinking, Xander!? You're gonna get her hurt!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. No one is being endangered," he reasoned, dark gaze moving from his sister to the details on either wall of the narrow corridor they were headed through.

Camilla huffed. "You know Father doesn't want us around her! Who knows what he would do if he found out we're doting on her? That girl's been through enough already, brother!"

Xander's expression tightened, and the princess could've sworn this boy who only had some ten or eleven years was developing wrinkles already from his constant grimace. He said nothing, though, and folded his arms behind his back as they took another turn.

The silence only heightened Camilla's anger. "It's hard enough sneaking her around all the time, trying to give that poor girl the attention she deserves without upsetting Father or causing half the nobles in the castle to go after her again. Things were just starting to calm down. But now he'll definitely be suspicious of her, if you of all people approached him about it!" She sighed through her nostrils. "I can't believe you did this... Say something, Xander...!"

"I couldn't help it," he responded with a tired breath. "She appeared in our quarters today, and her hands were bleeding. She wouldn't say what happened, but I wanted to know, so I went to Father." There was a pause as a maid hurried past them. "I am crown prince, so... I thought that would mean he would tell me _something_. If only Iago hadn't been there..."

Camilla stopped in her tracks, and Xander followed suite, causing silence to flood the hallway. "She was hurt? Again? No..." The princess shook her head back and forth. "And you thought to go to Father? Still?" Her gentle tone was back - thank the Gods, this new side of Camilla was something the prince had yet to get used to. Watching his siblings grow, being unable to spend more time with them - that would take some getting used to, as well. "I love him, too, Brother, but I don't think we should tell him everything..."

Xander frowned, straightening his back. "You're wrong, Sister. We are children of the king. We should behave like it. Father knows what's best for Nohr."

The girl groaned as she paced past him, starting down the curving hall that led to her chambers. "You sound just like him, Xander."

"I-I _should_ sound just like him," the prince bit back, more to himself than to his sister.

  
-*-

  
After many fruitless attempts at conversation, Azura was finally able to get Corrin to speak to her. It was a few months after her arrival at the castle, and after a particularly bad day with Iago. He'd put to use all sorts of spells in order to test her endurance in her draconic form - what she resisted, what she was weak to, what she was able to dodge and what she still had trouble detecting. It ended with another emotional outburst which Iago only fueled with his cruel words. Azura didn’t understand his taunts, but they bothered her nonetheless.

By Azura's shy request, the rope had been replaced with a flimsy rope ladder not long after the first incident. Luckily, it didn't seem to rouse very much suspicion from Iago, though this may have been because the princess had lied and told him his teleportation spells had made her feel dizzy. Truthfully, she did experience a short bout of illness after many of the visits, though it was due more to her enchanted song and her mother's amulet than any of the sorcerer's magic.

Corrin was exhausted, back in her human form, and Iago left, satisfied with his work. Azura waited the five or so minutes it took for him to disappear up the stairs, then padded along the perimeter of the spire, watching the lump of gray hair within the cell. She attempted a weak greeting, but as usual, there came no reply but a few weak sobs.  
Azura moved halfway around the cage to a small gate Iago had used only once when he had forgotten his warping tome. Carefully, she pulled her necklace over her head and then slid it around one of the bars of the door. It had been left unlocked for Azura, as it always was, to drop a sizable sack of food and waterskins inside of the cell either before or after a visit. The bar's protective magic did not channel through the amulet and zap her, and Azura figured this was due to her mother's spirit watching over her. Taking a shaky breath, she tugged slightly, and the section of the cage creaked open.

On wobbly legs, the princess approached the weeping girl. To her surprise, Corrin did not lash out or transform. _Is she that sad?_

“Excuse me, Corrin- If you don't mind me asking, may I know about your family?” It was strange, too strange, to speak to her like she was another normal girl, but Azura tried.

There was silence for a long time. Just as she was about to give up, though, there came a quiet groan, and Corrin shifted, still facing away from Azura and pulling her knees to her chest. “…They’re from Hoshido."

Elated at the response, Azura sat down beside the girl, trying desperately to quell the fear in her stomach telling her to turn around. “Oh, really? I hear Hoshido is a really pretty place, Corrin. There’s lots of sunshine…”

Two dark red eyes looked up at her. “There’s no sunshine here.”

Azura frowned. “That’s true…"

“…Are you from Nohr? That's where I am, right..?” came another mumble, though there was no edge to her tone.

“Yes, this is the Nohrian capital, and no…” murmured the princess. “I’m from… I-I’m not from here.”

“Oh.”

The words came spilling out. “My mother and I were forced out of our home, and she married the king here, but he already has kids and no one here likes me. I never do anything except wander around the castle. If I try to leave, even to go into the city, the guards will catch me and give me a lashing. Iago knows this, so he always finds me and makes me come down here and sing to you."

“Oh,” replied Corrin. “Who’s Iago?"

“The man with the mask,” Azura murmured, sitting back on her hands.

“Oh.” Corrin paused for a moment. “Your song makes me calm down. Why?"

Azura hummed. "It's magical," she explained, holding up the amulet's golden band. "This is my mother's necklace, and it has a lot of different powers if I sing the song."

“That’s cool…!” Corrin’s head finally popped up from behind her knees. Azura blinked. She really was just a normal girl up close, if not a bit strange looking, what with the pointed ears and all. Innocent, even. “They don’t do a lot of magic in Hoshido. We have diviners. My big brother uses a sword, though. I wanna use a sword someday, too.” Suddenly she frowned, and buried her face back into her armor. “I miss my family.”

The words resonated with Azura. She thought of Camilla, motherly Camilla, and all the things she had offered to do when the younger princess was feeling down. In a dungeon like this, though, Azura couldn’t show Corrin the baths or try on dresses or look through picture books, so she settled for patting the girl on the head, finding her hair to be springy and thick. “Sorry. Me, too...”

Corrin was silent the rest of the time and wouldn’t move, so Azura left, a horrible feeling settling in her gut as she turned the key to the gate. The click of the lock seemed deafeningly loud, and she winced.

_There has to be something I can do. Anything..._

  
-*-

  
Over the course of the following month, between visits with Camilla, brief exchanges with Leo, and lessons taught by the knight Gunter who was apparently assigned by a higher-up to keep an eye on Jakob and her, an idea gradually grew in Azura’s mind. Perhaps it was thanks to all the new interactions she was having, or her trips to the libraries that had become frequent, or simply Camilla's doting and somewhat rebellious personality rubbing off on her. She wasn’t directly disobeying Iago with her plan, she figured, so what was the big deal?

One evening, she ventured into Krakenburg's grandest library, requesting for Jakob to stay behind - it was difficult enough already to keep Iago's secrets from the butler when he insisted on serving her every second of the day. The endless shelves and towering marble columns were speckled in angular flecks of sunlight, dim as it was, and the air was full of dust. The smell of paper and ink filled the girl's nostrils as she slipped through the aisles and around stairwells, trying to avoid any other guests, keeping an eye out for the notorious bookworm prince Leo all the while. She gathered up as many texts as she could, on a wide array of subjects, and stuffed them into a satchel that she then carried around the adjacent halls with her until Iago popped up again.

He eyed the bag curiously, but did nothing else. Azura grinned silently in success once his back was turned, and they headed for the spire

The session that day, as usual, was bad. They were becoming less frequent now, for some reason. Azura figure it had something to do with the war; as Xander had explained it, Nohr was unable to deploy soldiers into the Hoshidan lands, and they were busy searching for a magical alternative.

When at last Iago left, Azura ran into the cage and tossed the sack on the ground before Corrin, who was panting.

“Look, Corrin. I got books!”

She tilted her head. “H…huh? Books?”

“Yes,” said Azura, picking one up and flipping through the pages. “All the royal siblings go to classes to learn stuff. I do too, but mine are shorter and not reslly formal. Since you’re always locked up down here, you probably don’t get to learn a lot.”

Corrin tried to offer an argument but lost it, closing her mouth. She shook her head. “Books are boring, though.

Azura giggled. “Leo would hate to hear you say that...”

The girl frowned. “Leo? Who’s that?”

 “Leo’s the youngest prince. He's had his nose buried in a book ever since he learned to read."

Corrin only grunted. She lifted one of her spindly hands up and took a book from the pile.

 

-*-

 

Azura lost track of time in the dungeon, scanning through the texts for her favorite stories and showing them to Corrin. Eventually, her stomach began to growl, signaling that it was close to dinner time. She excitedly gathered up the heavy objects and stuffed them back in the sack.

“That might be hard to carry," observed Corrin, sitting cross-legged with her chin in her hands. "Maybe you should leave them here. You look kind of weak, no offense."

Azura blinked. "You're right... But if Iago saw them, I'm sure he'd be furious."

The gray-haired girl hummed, wiggling her feet back and forth, then rose and revealed to Azura a toothy grin. "I got an idea."  
Before the princess could even guess what that was, Corrin bent her knees, drew back a hand, and then it twisted, becoming three or four times its size. With a cry, she slashed at a section of the ground with the enormous claw, uprooting three or four of the heavy stone bricks.

Azura stood, mouth agape, watching the hand shrivel back into its original shape. Corrin staggered back and forth, breathing heavily, and then turned to her companion with a severe look on her face. "Here."  
The burlap bag was lifted from the princess' arms and its contents dumped into the sizable indent that Corrin's claw had just dug out. When the empty sack was handed back to her, Azura noticed the smudged bloodstains on it, but said nothing.

"See you later, Azura," Corrin called, kneeling down and beginning to place the displaced  bricks back into place over the books. "We can read more next time."

"Ah... farewell, then, Corrin."

  
-*-

  
The visits continued on Corrin’s better days. She was an odd acquaintance indeed, a half-dragon girl living in the castle dungeons. But for a life as uneventful and lonely as Azura’s, sitting in a musky, dark spire with a Hoshidan prisoner was some form of entertainment, at least. And it made her feel a little less terrible each time she left that place.

Time flew by. Azura turned ten years old, and her siblings threw her a birthday party that was short-lived because Xander had to go off and help quell a skirmish in Cheve, and Leo had etiquette training again, something he was struggling with. Camilla and the tiny Elise were left, the younger princess sitting in her sister's lap.  
Azura watched them with a smile.

The three were seated in Camilla’s bedroom, one of the prettiest in the castle. The floor was lined with marble, the bed frame and furniture black with intricate designs embroidered in, and they sat on a purple bedspread, with a lavender canopy, deep violet curtains with frills on the end, and a single banner of Nohr hanging above the doorway. The tidiness contrasted sharply with the foreign princess's own quarters, though she could hardly put the blame on Jakob.

Azura and Camilla played with Elise, who laughed more than anyone in the castle and had earned the title of Nohr's ray of sunshine not long after her introduction to the court. She was also apparently the last child in the long line of Garon's sired offspring, as Xander had told them, which promised that their father's worst days were over and he might grow affectionate of the four that were left again. Camilla and Leo had agreed; Azura did not dare to voice her opinion on the matter until she had been alone with Jakob.

They curled Elise's short blonde locks and then Camilla and Azura did each other’s, listening to the eldest princess's wild tales from her travels all the while. The three complained about servants, with Jakob's bitterness in particular becoming a topic of many giggles. The Vallite princess felt she had never smiled this much in her whole life. It was almost strange to think of how isolated she had been before. All that was missing, she felt, was Corrin’s addition to the family. Certainly, they would accept her despite her lineage. Yet such a scenario seemed impossible.

  
-*-

  
“Corrin...?”

Azura let herself into the massive cell and skitted across the stone floor to where Corrin sat, head in her hands. At the girl’s unresponsiveness, the princess paused, stubbing her toe against a loose tile.

“Ouch… C-Corrin? I brought another book…” She frowned, slowing her pace as she grew near the quiet scrap of a girl. Azura wasn’t entirely sure, but it seemed like Corrin was changing. Like she was becoming weaker. Not physically weaker, she figured, since Iago brought her the same amount of, if not more, food Azura herself was given, and had her exercising one way or another in and out of her dragon form for however many hours each of their visits lasted, but… Corrin just seemed weaker. She wasn’t fighting back against him as much, wasn't questioning either of them, and her transformations were triggered much faster. The conversations Azura tried to hold with Corrin didn’t last as long. “D…did I do something bad? I’m sorry…”

Azura put the guilt on herself, figuring maybe Corrin didn’t want to be reading this whole time. She was always expressing interest in swordsmanship, but it wasn't like she could drag a practice weapon all the way here unnoticed. Perhaps a book on fighting styles...

A heavy sigh escaped Corrin as she sat up and put on a smile. The blue-haired princess, in turn, plopped down across from her and drew out an enormous, heavy book from her usual burlap bag. The cover was a deep black, with silver adorning the corners, and an ornate golden design running across the spine.

Corrin gazed wide-eyed at the new sight. “Woooow… It’s huge! How many stories are in this one?!”

Azura scoffed. “This one’s not a storybook, Corrin. This is the history of the Nohrian family and royalty!"

The dragon girl’s gray eyebrows scrunched together. “Huh? That sounds boring… I don’t like the Nohrians. They’re the ones that took me here and won’t let me go back to Hoshido, aren’t they?"

It looked like Corrin had more to say, but she kept her twitching lips closed. Azura frowned down at the book as she scrolled through the pages. “Yes… um… but, I just wanna show you my… my siblings. They aren’t like the bad ones that put you here. They don’t like Iago at all."

“Really…” Skepticism soaked the girl’s tone, but she scooted beside Azura to look at the pages anyway.

The princess nearly flicked past the most recent record, and turned a few pages back until she saw the first recognizable person. On the top left corner of the page was a sketch of a baby’s plump face. Beside it, in huge, ink letters was the name “ELISE”.

“E-li-se,” Corrin read aloud. “Elise…”

Azura nodded. “This is the – m-my – youngest sister. She’s still really small. But not quite a baby anymore. Her name is Elise. She always smiles and I really like spending time with her.”

A ghost of a smile passed over Corrin’s face as she absorbed each detail of the page. “She’s cute. She looks like my little sister, Sakura.”

“Well, all babies look the same, don’t they?” commented Azura lightly. Corrin hummed as if she was unsure.

Another pale hand reached out to turn the page. Two more faces appeared, slightly older than the first portrait. Azura pointed at the one on the right: “This is Leo. He’s the youngest brother. I told you about him already, remember? He loves books, and he’s really smart even though he’s still little.”

Corrin looked over the picture contemplatively. “Leo, huh…? I’ve got a little brother, too. Takumi. He looks a lot tougher than this guy.” Her eyes – the red color was still offsetting to Azura even though she was friends with Corrin – moved to the other page, where a girl around their age was depicted.

“Who’s she?"

“That’s the eldest princess, Camilla,” continued Azura, a smile coming to her lips this time. “She’s like a mother to us all, even though she’s only a year older than me. She’s so nice and elegant.”

Corrin opened her mouth to speak.

“Let me guess,” Azura chimed. “You have an older sister, too?"

The silver-haired girl nodded. “Yea. Hinoka, but she’s not _elegant.._. She tries to act strong, but she’s a crybaby. Still, I think she could beat up this Camilla.”

The princess nearly laughed at this. “Camilla is a lot tougher than she looks. She’s also training to ride wyverns.”

Corrin’s eyebrows shot up. “Wyverns? …What’s that?”

“Like a dragon, like you, but sorta different, I think…” Azura muttered, pressing a finger to her chin. “I haven’t really seen one up close…”

“Oh,” replied the opposing girl, tilting her head to the side. “Well, maybe she could, then… We don't have anything like that in Hoshido, but we do have Pegusi...” Her gaze moved back to the book. “I have an older brother, too. His name is Ryoma.” Corrin grinned just slightly at this, as if the boy himself had appeared before her after all this time, or perhaps she was recalling a happy memory. “Do you have an older brother, too?

Azura felt warm tears roll down her cheeks, at this question. Even though Corrin didn’t know any better, she was referring to the Nohrian siblings like they were hers as well, and she theirs... The girl took a moment to sniffle and wipe at her face, earning a weird look from Corrin, before remembering the actual question.

“Yes,” replied the princess, turning the page. The photo of Xander, at least, was more recent, fitting since he was the eldest. She took another moment to rub at her eyes.

“K-sss… K-sander…” Corrin’s scarlet eyes narrowed into slits as she glared down at the word. “K-s…”

“With a _z_ , like this – _Xander_ ,” instructed Azura, pointing at the large “X”.

  
“Kss… Z-Xander. You Nohrians have such strange names...” She stuck out her chapped lower lip as her attention shifted to the drawing. “He doesn’t look so tough.”

Azura looked down at the picture. Truly, he didn’t. His face was soft and his hair was tousled, partially hiding his face. The power behind Xander's usual scowl was lost in the choppy lines and curves of the artist's charcoal. “I suppose so… But he’s the crown prince, so he has a lot more responsibility than anyone else…”

“I bet my brother could beat him up.” She crossed her arms together, bulky armor clinking all the while.

“Really?” The princess frowned. “Well, perhaps… I heard Xander has a lot of trouble with combat…”

Corrin’s grin widened, and she nodded to herself.

“Hmm, but… he is pretty good with the sword, so I wouldn’t count him out,” continued Azura. “I'm not sure…”

The opposing girl stood up all of the sudden, her long, messy locks poofing out with the movement. “No way, he’s a swordfighter!”

The princess dipped her head, bringing her other hand up to brush some long blue strands from her face. “I don’t know a lot about him, but he is learning the sword…”

Corrin kneaded at the ground with her bare feet for a few seconds before sitting back down and facing the book. She crossed her legs. “You have cool siblings,” the girl finally commented.

Azura hummed in agreement. “It seems you do, too, Corrin. If you ever want to know more about them, just ask.” She wasn’t sure why she wanted to tell this imprisoned girl every detail of her sibling’s lives. Deep down, it was because she hoped it would ease up some of the loneliness Corrin may’ve been feeling that Azura deeply identified with. Even as things got worse in the dungeon and better for Azura upstairs, she hoped some kind of feeling of family would bring comfort. It was the least she could do.

"...Alright..." Her gaze shifted off to the side. Two gloved hands fidgeted in her lap. Seeing this, Azura figured that the silver-haired girl was likely aching to know more and was simply too shy to ask. Perhaps to tell more, too. So on the following visits, aside from reading, she added that to the agenda – talking about family. Even if it was something she’d seen her siblings do in passing. “Someday,” she told Corrin, “I hope we can all be your family, too.”

In the weeks following this, she dwelled on how silly she had sounded, how unrealistic it was, how childish she really must be to think such a thing could happen. If Corrin had any sort of opinion about this, she didn't speak of it to Azura, just like she never spoke of escaping or her father or her draconic abilities.

The brunt of Azura's growing frustration manifested amongst the towering shelves of the library one night, not long after supper. Under her arms were five books, on swordsmanship, dragons, the original dragons, the Dusk Dragon, and dragon worshipping respectively. Only the first was meant for Corrin. The princess's thoughts got the best of her all of a sudden, and she stormed to the end of the aisle, throwing aside the dusty texts and falling to her knees.

_There has to be something more._

"Something more I can do besides... These books..."

This is where Leo found the girl, doubled over with her hands tangled into her hair. He hurried to her side. "Azura? Sister? What's gotten into you?!"

She calmed, attempting to collect herself, not daring to meet the prince's eyes. "Hello, Prince Leo... I am sorry to disturb you. I didn't know you would be here this late."

The blonde scoffed, picking up two of the books. "It's not like I have a mother to enforce a curfew. N-not that that matters, it's not that late..." He bit his lip, noticing the darkness that had closed in on the stained glass windows high above. "Maybe I should get back, though... I suppose I lost track of time."

His body twitched as he thought to lend the girl a hand and stopped himself. "W-what about you? You seemed upset..."

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, Prince Leo," assured Azura, climbing to her feet and setting the rest of the heavy tomes on the table beside the others. "I just have a lot on my mind... I'll come back for these tomorrow."

With that, she started for the exit, not wanting to give another long, lie-riddled excuse as to what she was up to to the boy. But there were uneven footsteps behind her.

"Um, where are you going?" He tried.

"To sing." Azura stopped at the library's mahogany threshold and peered back over her shoulder. On more than one occasion, she'd spotted the young prince nearby when she thought she'd been alone in the castle, filling the empty halls with her songs. "Would you like to join me?"

The ends of Leo's lips lifted just slightly. "I-I would."

Spending time with Garon's precious son, _and_ being up after hours. Surely, the king would be livid if he knew. Azura found she hardly cared; if anything, this small act of rebellion was cathartic for her and offered relief from the thoughts of Corrin's rapidly worsening situation.


	5. Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Prince Xander ventures too far into the dark.

 

"Checkmate," Azura beamed, looking up from the chess board at Jakob, who was seated across from her. There was but one table in the Vallite princess' humble room, and at most hours it was either being utilized for food or strategy games.

The boy sat back in his chair with a sigh and folded his gloved hands in his lap. The old wood legs squeaked in protest with the movement. A few feet behind them, the door to her chambers shook as someone knocked - pounded, rather - against it. "You've got me, indeed, Lady Azura," the butler said, moving to stand. "Your first victory against me in quite a while, if I'm not wrong."

The princess followed suite, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder as she straightened her gown. "I'll get it." Quickly, the bare-footed girl skittered across the room and pulled open the door, offering a shy smile to the guest...

...Only to gasp as her neck craned back and she recognized the intruder as Iago.

He never came directly to her chambers, he'd only come pick her up while she was adrift in the halls, and alone - of course he didn't want Jakob to be suspicious, for despite the fact that he was lowborn and a servant, Iago would surely silence him if he knew anything-

Azura's thoughts were interrupted as she felt a violent tug on her hair and her feet lift off the ground in turn. A cry escaped her lips, and Jakob, too, called out as well.

"You! How _dare_ you!"

Iago's voice was some mix of a hiss and a scream, and she peeled open her eyelids to look at him, struggling against his grip. His mouth was twisted, hanging open, his one visible eye wide with fury, the brow above curling around the front, an angry, sharp line. "Do you think this is all some sort of jest? A hobby of mine? A hobby of the King's?! Your meddling with the prisoner has disrupted precious process, you foolish girl!"

Flecks of spit landed in Azura's face and she flinched. At last, the sorcerer released her, and Jakob was there in a heartbeat, pulling her away from the man. "I-I..."

_How could he have found out..?! I was discreet about it, wasn't I...? Corrin did a good job hiding the books... And it's been going fine for so long, now..._

The robed man threw his spindly hands up into the air. "Enough! I have no further need of your magic, anyways. It is a hindrance at this point, just as you are." He spoke with a chilling, careful tone: "But this is not without consequence. You are banned from all the libraries in Windmire. Be happy King Garon still has some future use of you, or you'd be dead." He whipped his head to the side suddenly, looking down the hallway. "You! Take her to the fourth level and tell the others Iago has ordered a lashing."

Azura barely had time to process the sorcerer's words before a large, armored man appeared in the door frame, tugging her away by her arm. Jakob, eyes wide, moved to pursuit the two, but was stopped by Iago's looming form. He glared down at the boy, not even sparing one of his signature smirks, then slammed the door shut, sending Jakob tumbling to the floor, wondering what the hell was going on.

 

-*-

 

Hours later - well past dinnertime, as Azura's stomach was roaring intermittently with hunger - the princess wobbled back to her chambers, tumbling though the door and falling to her knees before the nearest chair, using her shaking arms to hold herself upright still. Stronger than her hunger was the pain coming from each individual stripe on her back. She was certain a few were bleeding, and that her nice, white Vallite dress was ruined. No matter. She could ask Camilla for a new one...

For a moment her vision faded. In another, Jakob was suddenly upon her, eyebrows raised, a candle in hand. He flitted around the room, so fast that following his movements hurt Azura's head, and she was handed an assortment of things - water, herbal medicine, a muffin. He moved to her side and hovered for a moment, before standing back up and leaving the room entirely. At this point, Azura was chomping down on her lip to distract from the overwhelming pain on her back.

A few minutes later, Jakob returned, tailed by two maids she recognized as the Ice Tribe twins, Flora and Felicia. She tried to greet them, but her voice failed her. Some more time passed, and Azura felt considerably better; her back felt cool, now, numb, but cool, and she could at least speak, answer the questions she was able to, albeit absently.

Her mind whirled. This wouldn't do. Without her, she was certain they would break Corrin entirely, accelerate the degeneration as she suspected they wanted to do. And then what...? She didn't want to think about it. But she'd thought this over dozens of times, and there was no way out, unless she wanted to risk giving up her life entirely. She sighed as she lowered herself into the hot bath water the two maids had provided. _I have no power, here... I never will._ The princess swirled her hands around the water's surface, breathing in the steam that rose off of it. _If someone who had the power to do something knew, though... Just maybe...?_

 

 

-*-

 

 

Nohrian royalty had boasted for generations that Krakenburg was the grandest castle across the land. Layers upon layers of spacious halls and lavish chambers spread outward from the excavated ring at its center, many of which were, in recent days, unused. Given this, there were many places that even the eldest son of the king and crown prince hadn’t yet ventured through. There were lots of reasons why – some, yes, because despite this being his home, it was still easy to lose your way in the winding corridors and empty rooms, and many times as a younger child he, having gotten lost, would curl up and cry until his father found him, and carried him off, chuckling softly as he wiped away the boy’s tears. Those memories now brought a scowl to Xander’s face; his father seemed to be changing, probably due to the state of his country and the stress of his position, his sternness turning into what the prince at times thought was cruelty.

Putting the thoughts behind him, Xander quickened his pace, finally spotting the stairwell that his sister Azura had mentioned. It was tucked away behind a thick pillar, in the corner of a long, grand hallway that maybe one time, before he was born, had been majestic, and hosted colorful feasts and dances of all sorts, but now was dark, and swamped in dull grays and browns. Tattered curtains covered the windows that ran across the left side of the hallway, the boy noticed as he let his gaze rise from the floor. In doing this, however, he stumbled on a displaced tile and nearly lost his balance.

 _What is a section of Castle Krakenburg doing in a state such as this?_ He thought in irritation, glaring down at the crevice in question before continuing over to the stairwell. Were there really no people, servants, nobles, _anyone_ who could make use of this hall? Clean it, at least, for the sake of the crown prince’s safety? _Then again, I… am not_ supposed _to be here._

Azura had approached him as he was heading back from swordsmanship practice, having let himself out of training early due to stress. The week had been relentless, the throne room full of irritated farmers from outside Windmire and their pale, skeleton-like family members demanding that the king give them assistance. Often, Xander had wondered aloud to his father why some of the castle's plentiful food stores could not be donated to the poorer towns outside the city, and always Garon replied sternly that this would only encourage them to come back for more - like stray cats, he believed the analogy had been. Xander would nod - this way, the farmers would become independent. Along with this was the usual influx of rebels, skirmishes in faraway towns that had to be quelled, and though, as the young boy he still was, Xander was still learning the basics of the sword himself, he was still sent out to at least observe these events. It had been taxing, to say the least. So he had simply dismissed the mentor there to train him that evening, then lazily swung a wooden sword about in one of the barren courtyards until his arms were too sore to even heft up the object, tossed it aside, and headed to his quarters.

On the way, in that one passage between the courtyard and the quarters of the royal family that was nondescript and rarely traveled except by the training prince, that was when Azura had appeared from behind a corner, as ghost-like as the dejected princess always was. He did feel some pity for the girl, but there was just nothing he could do to help her. Whispers, whether they came from nobility, maids, or the the royal children’s own mothers, said this Azura was to be avoided at all costs. That it was taboo to even associate with her. The daughter of Arete – the woman that succeeded Xander’s mother. Perhaps he would’ve been bitterer, had his father not already been seeing other women before his remarriage to the foreign woman. Xander and Camilla, with all the pains that came with being part of the great Nohrian royal family, had done their best in accepting Azura as a sister, regardless, but this didn’t seem to affect her – nothing did. She was stoic and frail and unreadable and it was rare that either he or Camilla crossed paths with her. Garon himself had told Xander not to waste his time helping Azura, and he and Camilla’s schedules, he found, were arranged so that the royal siblings and their step-sister never even crossed paths. So when her image seemed to manifest out of thin air in that twilit hallway, he was interested in what business she might have.

“Prince Xander,” she had murmured in her airy voice, golden orbs focused on the ground in front of him.

Xander objected. “Azura... please, there's... there’s no need for formality, I am your brother.”

Her eyebrows twitched, but other than that the blue-haired girl’s expression remained completely blank. “If I may ask of you a favor…” She had moved her hands out at this, ivory skin standing out against the dark indigo of the robes she wore. (He could have sworn he'd seen Camilla wearing that dress a year or so ago) In her hands was a sizable bag, a sack of cloth whose contents were indiscernible. “Forgive me, I do not mean to shirk my duties, but… His majesty, our father, has asked me to speak with him in his chambers at sundown, and it’s at that time every day I deliver this package to…” She paused, closing her mouth, then spoke again: “to one of Iago’s friends.”

Xander blinked, his gaze moving from the suspicious package to Azura’s unreadable, round face. The sun had been setting when he had left the courtyard; that certainly left very little time for Azura to make it all the way to the throne room, and Father was not at all tolerant of tardiness. But to ignore one of Iago’s orders was also…

She wavered. “Please, Pri- Brother, if it’s not too much to ask…”

“Of course, Azura,” replied Xander, taking the hefty bag from her arms. The weight, the feeling of it was definitely… strange. And there didn't seem to be any way to actually open it, unless he were to take a sword and slash the cloth apart - somehow it had been tightly resealed. “There’s nothing shameful about this request. Father must have forgotten about your other responsibilities… If you hurry, I’m sure he’ll let this pass.”

Complying only seemed to make Azura even more nervous; her head of aqua hair turned to the side, hands clenching into fists. “Thank you, but… You, also...” Suddenly the girl looked up, looking Xander in the eye, which was a very rare occurrence in itself. “You mustn’t speak of this incident to anyone. No matter what… Just act like you left training and went straight to your quarters…”

The anxiety in her quivering voice and pleading gaze was more than a little unsettling to the prince, and part of his mind whirled to try and guess why such a simple and understandable favor should be kept in the dark, but his obedient nature got the best of him, and he nodded. “If that is for the best, Azura…” It wouldn’t be good, he figured, for word to get out that the crown prince was running favors for Arete’s daughter, after all. Azura, at least, could understand this.

The princess stepped back, dipping her head in return. “V-very well, then… The room it is to be brought to is on a lower level of the castle, if you go right at the end of this hall…” Her directions were intricate and hard to follow. It was strange to hear the girl speak this much, too. As an older brother, truly it would make him proud, but… somehow given the context, the strange and vague request, her talkativeness and the obscure destination of the package was even more unsettling. “…I am very grateful for this, Brother. Thank you.” With that, she scurried off, her footsteps as light as usual, seeming even more like a forlorn spirit than when she’d first appeared. If he’d had any questions, she’d given him no opportunity to ask, or to go back on this request. Xander sighed in resignation at the strange bag in his arms, and had then started towards the first checkpoint of Azura’s map. It was something to do, at least, he figured, besides mope or study.

And now, here the prince was, standing at the maw of an unnamed staircase in the bowels of Castle Krakenburg, his heartbeat picking up for some reason. There was no light coming from within, no sound or wind. Just blinding dark. All Xander had as a weapon was the torch in his hand, as well as the hefty sack of whatever this package contained. His suspicions that the contents were something shady, for someone shady, only spiked at the fact that _this_ was supposed to be its recipient’s home. Just what was Iago having the young princess do for chores…? Being sent to such a remote end of the castle, on her own?

The torchlight battled with the shadows, a losing fight in which the darkness would lash out at Xander’s leather boots every time the fire flickered. At last, he swallowed his fear and stepped forwards, and down and down as the stairs circled around like a tightly coiled snake. The passage was narrow, to the point where, in his bulky training gear, Xander felt uncomfortable and increased his pace. _Just make it quick… Deliver Azura’s package and leave the way you came, make your way to your quarters – and give no signal to the others that this happened._ The thought did nothing to soothe his rapidly increasing pulse.

It was when his legs had begun to grow sore that a sound tickled his eardrums, just barely, but enough to jolt his muscles and bring his movements to a halt.

Xander mistook it, at first; it was so dim, so faint that it could have been anything. A chandelier teetering back and forth, a heavy door squeaking as it was opened. Anything could have been in the room the staircase led to. But it persisted, pausing only for a second or so, a faint whining noise, not high-pitched enough to be the squeaking of a door… And memories came back of Xander’s little brother, of all things – Leo, who just a year or two ago was but a tiny bundle of lavender blankets – and how he was always crying, how it would often wake Xander up at night and how Camilla would coax the infant back to sleep, in the absence of his real parents.

The sound, realized the prince, though he struggled to believe it, was… someone crying. Wailing.

Swallowing, Xander continued down the stairs, slower now. The sound didn’t get louder as he descended, but it became more apparent in the silence – the softer whimpering, followed by loud sobs, with sporadic breaks, probably for breathing. He was almost sure it was female. Any foggy guess the prince might’ve had about who this package was to be delivered to, to who lived at the bottom of this stairwell, has been lost now.

At last the stairs evened out and the choking passageway opened up to a wide chamber – no, he observed in the dim light provided by the few torches lining the pathway of gray stone ahead of him, it was a spire. The space was wide and circular, and the ceiling was not visible in the darkness, nor was the floor; on either side of the walkway that could maybe fit four men side by side, was the same hungry darkness that filled the stairwell. Some of the torches, he noticed as he advanced towards the end of the platform, which jutted out into the center of the spire, had flickered out. Had Azura or someone else been replenishing them, then? Furthermore – _who_ did this package even go to? Xander approached the edge, careful not to trip once more on the uneven gray bricks that lined the walkway. Why was a place like this even built in the first place? What purpose could it serve? He should know this, he reasoned, as the crown prince. He should know his castle, its secrets – perhaps he would one day, and that fact scared him as he stared into the silent abyss below.

“H-hello?”

Silence – the weeping had subsided. Xander was left wondering if it had really happened, or if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, because he couldn’t even fathom what a weeping girl would be doing in a place like this. What Azura would be doing, either – what _he_ was doing.

“ _Drop this off the edge,”_ she had said. _“You will understand once you are there. That’s all you must do…”_   Xander didn’t understand at all. However, with the growing anxiety within him he didn’t bother to question Azura’s directions, and, with one last glance at the bag, held it over the edge of the pathway and let it go. Then he waited. Counted. When the softest _pap_ emerged from the darkness, Xander had reached fifteen seconds.

It was a long way down. That much was obvious.

Somehow, however, the view was enticing. Everything about the situation was. The random dungeon, buried within the castle, Azura’s involvement, the weeping girl, the request for secrecy… among all the new stresses a prince might encounter nearing adolescence, this one was unique.

Getting caught up in his own thoughts, Xander failed to register a new sound that had filled the spire – the flapping of wings is probably what he would compare it to, like the wyverns that would speckle the battlefield. He didn’t realize until it was too late.

Out of the cloud of black came an object, a moving, living thing like a snake. Horned, grotesque… Like a _dragon_. With the image came an earsplitting roar and a bang as the rest of its body came into contact with something that wasn’t the spire – something metal? Xander yelped, stumbling backwards, heel catching in between two dislodged bricks and causing him to fall backwards. He was paralyzed with fear, shaking beneath his armor, eyes widened at the gray beast that was screeching and snapping at him with pointed, dark jaws mere inches from his feet, its form just barely lit enough in the torch’s flickering light to hint at how large it actually was. Its neck disappeared into the spire, but by the racket echoing across the walls there was definitely a lot more down there. Seconds turned into minutes as he sat unmoving, staring into the maw of this furious thing, his countenance paler and more ghost-like than Azura could’ve ever hoped to be, his ears ringing from the sheer volume of its screeches. It was only when the beast had to recoil from its pounding against the metal bars that had become visible just below the walkway that he stumbled to his feet and began backing towards the stairs again. The dragon must’ve noticed this, although it had no visible eyes, and began roaring and thrashing again, but not advancing. Xander turned and sprinted to the tunnel, tossing the torch aside to make haste, ignoring his sore legs and the weight of his armor. He stumbled up the stairs blindly, tripping again and again but pushing onward in fear of the serpentine beast’s pursuit, begging the gods to give him his life, struggling to breathe, too afraid to look back over his shoulder – and at last he emerged back into the great hall, immediately collapsing onto his hands and knees. The hall, and the stairwell behind him, were quiet once more, as if nothing had ever happened.

His thoughts were still too muddled and his mind too shaken to even process what he had just seen, and, acting on instinct alone, Xander continued back the way he came until he was approaching the royal quarters. By now, his breathing had evened out and he had collected himself at least enough to appear presentable to passersby, though beneath his armor he still was trembling. The prince turned to the stairwell leading up a level, stiffly, ignoring Camilla’s greeting as he passed by her on the way. It was only once the boy had shut the doors to his bed chambers, slid the lock, and made sure that no servants were lingering, did he remove his training gear, collapse in his bed, and stare numbly at the violet banner draped over the banisters, fighting off the urge to both become violently ill and to simply wail like a child. When sleep at last came for the young prince, it was fitful, as the image of the enraged dragon seemed to be trapped beneath his eyelids.

_Azura... what is the meaning of this...? Father... what are you not telling me?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wtf Iago needs to stop pulling people's hair
> 
>  
> 
> I'd like to imagine that unlike her super strategic cousin, Azura is not good with that kind of thing at all. So maybe Jakob let her win that chess game out of the goodness of his heart.
> 
> Originally, I was going to post that scene with Xander before anything else and then go back and explain... but I figured it'd be confusing, so here we are.


	6. Castle of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Azura struggles between fear for her own life, and fear for Corrin's.

No one had seen Prince Xander in a few days. His siblings figured he’d have to come out of his room at some point, but when he had he must’ve been sneaking around when no one else was up and about, because despite their efforts – which included skipping lessons, sneaking out of training and hiring their servants to skulk around his floor – their eldest brother hadn’t been spotted once. Whispers passed between the maids and butlers that the pressure of being crown prince, and a realization of his own father’s cold nature, had thrown him into a bout of despair. Others theorized that the teenage boy was much too young to grasp such things and was simply enjoying some time off, considering King Garon and Iago both had run off to Woods of the Forlorn for shady, undisclosed reasons.

Perhaps it was that, or the stress the crown prince was under, but the main thing plaguing Xander’s mind was that dragon. The deadly beast lying in the heart of Castle Krakenburg. Dim mid-morning sunlight drifted in through the arched window beside the prince’s bed, offering the faintest touch of warmth and stirring him from his thoughts. He sat up, let out a heavy sigh, and moved to dress in his day clothes.

Xander was just resting his crown atop his head - the final touch in his outfit of a violet tunic, black vest and breeches, leather boots that reached up just below the knee, and a brighter purple cloak - when there was a knock at the door. It was light and shy, almost hesitant, and he glanced over towards the dark slab of wood that was currently shut and locked. The knocks of the maids and butlers had been more insistent, and had been accompanied by a gentle “Milord?” Curious, the prince padded across his quarters to the door, pulling a few of his short, curling bangs from beneath the rim of his crown almost unconsciously.

“Um... Brother?”

Leo. Xander sighed at the gentle, muffled voice and reached for the handle. It was only a matter of time before they got worried and showed up... Still too caring for their own good. Taking a deep breath, the prince swung his door open and glanced down.

His little brother was still a boy, but Xander felt he was losing his innocence rapidly. Leo stood at least a head or two below the crown prince, who, according to his caretakers was growing like a weed. His face, small and soft, seemed to have adapted a permanent pout, which may have been cute to Camilla and to Leo’s wet nurse, but when Xander saw the coldness settling itself in the child’s demeanor, he only felt sick and guilty. Leo had once been an excitable child, unruly, even, always chasing Xander around and getting himself into trouble that Garon would pull him out of. Those days seemed so far away, all of the sudden. The eldest prince could tell himself it was because of the pressures of being a prince of Nohr, or the distance that he’d put between them, but truthfully, he’d come to see it as their father’s fault and his recent cruelty towards them. This topic was terribly sensitive for Xander, so he pushed it aside whenever he was able. Upon seeing Leo at his doorway, looking up at him with two concerned amber eyes, the prince was forced to bury away that growing disdain for his father’s demeanor once again.

“Leo.” Any attempt to make his words the least bit soothing was useless, as Xander's voice was hoarse and scratchy from a lack of use over the past few days. “Is something the matter?”

 A few steps behind the boy was Camilla. She, too, had that expression of pity on her features that stirred up guilt and unease in Xander’s stomach. In her arms was Elise – the child’s head was turned the other way, covered in wavy yellow locks, but she turned around at the sound of conversation and watched Xander curiously with her round, lavender eyes.

“It’s you, brother,” Leo started, sounding almost as if he was about to cry. His hands were clutched at his side, grabbing at bunches of fabric from the white dress shirt he was wearing. “Where have you been? What’s wrong?”

Xander frowned and glanced further down the hallway. In the rare sunlight, the maroon pillars lining it were highlighted with beautiful hazel, the purple wallpaper turning lavender, and the many brass-framed paintings on either wall seemed to come to life in this new lighting. Leo and Camilla tensed at this hesitation, the latter taking a step forwards.

The prince forced a chuckle, bringing one hand to his forehead. “I really have missed a lot, haven’t I…? I’m sorry, Leo, Camilla.” He moved forwards to touch Elise’s head. “And you too, little Elise.”

 She giggled, and the sound was enough to peel off at least one of the many layers of tension coating the atmosphere.

“Father and Iago…” started Xander as he fell into his usual routine of steeling himself and his emotions, usually something he’d do before speaking publicly – recently, something he’d do before speaking to his father. “They’re still out in the Woods of the Forlorn, I’m sure you know. The barrier around Hoshido is still impossible to pass… So they’re trying to amass a bigger army of Faceless to send over.”

Leo seemed to light up at this. A ray of sunlight caught his hair, and his golden blonde locks shined for a moment. The color was practically identical to Xander’s own, but the younger prince’s hair was smooth and straight while the older’s was curlyand unruly, something that constantly reminded both of their heritage. “Faceless…! I hope I get to study those soon, Brother. Has Iago left any tomes about?”

The crown prince’s expression hardened. “Doubtfully. Dark magic is dangerous, Leo. You should wait until you’re older to begin training with it.” Noticing the dejection that flashed through Leo’s expression and how his bottom lip stuck out just a little more, he continued tactfully: “But it’s great that you’ve been so interested in magic, lately. I’m excited to see what you’ll accomplish, Leo.”

At this, the boy beamed, and just for a moment Xander, too, allowed himself a smile. He turned attention to his sisters. Elise was playing with locks of Camilla’s hair, grinning as it ran through her tiny fingers. “And your training, sister? Wyvern knights are one of Nohr’s strongest forces, you know. Everything is going well? It’s not too dangerous?”

The girl dipped her head. The movement caused her hair to slip from Elise's grasp, and the younger princess let out a gasp of despair. “The wyverns are a little hard to work with… but they warm up eventually. You all know I was never one for horses.”

The boys chuckled uneasily. It wasn’t too long ago that Camilla had been deciding on what sort of mount she’d want, when a horse had reared back and sent her flying through the air; she’d been caught just barely in time by one of the royal guards, who had happened to be atop a wyvern. It had been horrifying at the time, sure, but quite a spectacle all in itself. Ever since then, she had taken well to the beasts and was serving as an apprentice in the stables for Nohr’s most prestigious wyverns and wyvern riders.

The thought of dragons, however, brought Xander’s thoughts back to a sore subject, and again, he felt his stomach turn. His family’s smiling faces surrounded him, but the warmth they provided seemed to vanish. That dragon… if it got loose, what would stop it from going on a feral rampage and killing everyone in the castle? The wyverns were fierce, sure, but slow and laid back. Surely, it seemed nimble enough to maneuver through the halls while avoiding the guards. But, somehow, it didn’t even look like a dragon, at not one Xander had ever seen before – more like something out of a storybook. The wyverns of Nohr were scaled, not armored, with muscular bodies and wide jaws.

 “Brother, you should come to the stables today,” Leo spoke as he noticed Xander tense up. “It’s such a nice spot, so I go there a lot to practice magic. You could watch Elise while Camilla takes care of the wyverns.”

There was a hint of desperation in the boy’s voice and in the corners of his mouth as he tried again to smile at Xander. But the prince knew he wouldn’t be remotely comfortable, that close to the wyverns, after his recent encounter. So he politely shook his head. “I’m sorry, you two – I just remembered, I have something important to ask Azura. Has anyone seen her?”

Since she seemed to disappear and reappear within the castle like a ghost, the crown prince doubted either of them would have an answer. But it was an excuse to get away, and a reminder to himself that instead of holing himself up in his room out of fear, he needed to get some answers.

Leo and Camilla glanced at each other, then shook their heads. “Last night, I saw her before she went to sleep,” hummed the princess, letting Elise down when she attempted to clamber out of her grasp. “But not at all, this morning, no.”

Xander nodded, saying a quick goodbye and hurrying down the corridor. Father never let her leave the castle, and the few times she’d snuck out he heard mocking rumors that she’d been given harsh lashings for it. _So she has to be around here, somewhere._

-*-

How could it have gone wrong?

 Azura paced back and forth along the bumpy stone walkway that, just a few feet ahead, dropped into Corrin’s cage. A tattered satchel, full of bread and other food scraps from the castle kitchen, swayed at her side. It was nearly half the size of the petite girl. This was all she was good for, when it came to helping Corrin, nowadays – feeding. Not that the imprisoned princess even knew it was her bringing the food in the first place. For all she knew, Azura could be dead. But despite this inability to speak with Corrin, the foreign princess had hoped things would have worked.

 Days before, just hours prior to her finding Xander and sending him in her place to the spire with Corrin’s meal, she had sat at the edge of the stone walkway, gazing into the darkness that had once been so intimidating to her but now, with the knowledge that swimming beneath was nothing but a scared kid, didn’t affect Azura. She mulled over her idea for a while. Corrin had had a terrible day. Iago had visited in the early hours of the morning, as the princess spotted him on her way out of her quarters for breakfast, with a smirk on his face that made her feel ill. Before she had even arrived at the spire, when she was descending down the rough stairway, torch in hand, a horrible noise had come from the darkness, not quite unlike the screams of a dying animal. Azura had hurried down the rest of the way, and by the time she reached the bottom step she’d had to press both of her palms over her ears due to how loud the screeching was. She didn’t want to know why Corrin was in this condition, and there was no way of finding out, anyway. But despite this, setting the bag aside, Azura cautiously approached the ledge, took a deep breath, and, as loud as she could, sung her mother’s song. The amulet lifted from her chest, piercing the darkness with its soft blue glow, and somewhere far below the bellowing of the dragon wavered.

When the last note of her spell receded from the spire, Azura, out of breath, had recoiled from her singing. She moved to pick up the bag once more, clutching the fabric. However, just as the earsplitting roars ended, another sound drifted up from the spire - the cries of a human. But it held the same level of raw emotion as the terrible wails of the dragon. Intense, choking sobs followed by anguished wails and the patting of what might’ve been a fist hitting the ground. Azura stood at the edge for another moment, clutching the bag tightly in her tiny, white hands. Truly, there was nothing else she could do.

 …Or… was there really…?

Corrin was in a moment of total vulnerability, letting her despair run freely from her. Azura had never seen – heard, rather – the girl in such a state. It tugged on her heart strings. If only the others knew of this – if only she could tell them in detail the horror that was this Corrin's life. But the threat of Iago finding out…

 _If only the others knew of this._ It had seemed like the perfect opportunity. Corrin was human, Iago’s visit had only just ended and he would not be back for at least another fornight. Up until now, Azura had been obeying his order of having no contact with Corrin quite well. In fact, she was sure she’d overheard a noble mention that he, Garon, and a number of other talented dark mages were leaving Windmire altogether for the next few days. The circumstances were near perfect, she supposed. Corrin was in such a vulnerable condition. The idea of leading the crown prince Xander down into the spire, to find a trapped, wailing girl, surely, would raise unignorable questions in his mind. He was the eldest sibling. If he could be convinced to help save Corrin, surely the others would. She let the scene play out in her head, swimming in hope despite the wails echoing around her. If Azura was lucky, the prince, who of all the royal siblings still alive she knew still possessed a powerful heart despite Garon’s coldness, would run and find some rope, dive into the void, pull Corrin out of there, and take her to safety, demanding answers from the Nohrian generals that lurked around the castle that Azura knew were completely unaware of Garon’s secret. Word would get out, and enough people would be suspicious of foul play that Iago wouldn’t simply be able to silence everyone with a deadly spell. Then, only once the solid evidence was there, could the foreign princess explain everything – then, perhaps, the siblings would realize just how cruel the king and his advisor were, and then… Well, she hadn’t thought that far. But Corrin would be free, and the iron grip Garon had on his children would weaken. Azura had witnessed Xander dropping everything to comfort a crying Leo or Elise enough times to trust him in such a situation. She thought of the many books she read, too, both on her own time and to Corrin when she still was able to. Yes, the prince _always_ saved the princess from the evil sorcerer. Then all of them, as a family, could live happily ever after.

So Azura had left, dropping the bag of food in the usual section of darkness that she always did. It would slip between the top of the cage, the gaps just big enough for it to fit through, and land across from where Corrin usually sat, ready to be pried open by her inhuman claws. She’d pulled herself up the stairs and out of the crumbling old wing of Krakenburg, bristling with excitement, and spent the rest of the day watching her adoptive siblings and waiting.

The plan had seemed so perfect…

But it had gone wrong. Somewhere, something had happened out of order.

-*-

It wasn’t until a few days after that Azura encountered Xander again.

 

“I enjoyed the tea. Thank you very much, Jakob,” she said, dropping into a shy curtsy.

The butler smiled. “You’re welcome, Lady Azura. I’m glad _someone_ can appreciate it.”

"You are improving, truly,” Azura giggled, always touched by the title he gave her. No one called her _Lady_ Azura. Sure, she was a princess, a princess of Nohr, technically, but her utter social rejection for reasons she still didn’t understand made it so the only special title she got was “wench” or something similar. Her siblings, perhaps the only Nohrians that had an ounce of respect for her besides Jakob, Gunter, Felicia, and Flora, only referred to her as “sister” or “Azura” due to their relation. The twin maids had gotten used to calling Azura by her name, only out of habit and from mimicking the castle’s other inhabitants, but it was Jakob who’d one day spoke up and corrected them. “It’s _Lady_ Azura,” he’d said, nose pointed high. “She is our superior and a princess. Do not be disrespectful.”

With Iago away, the blue-haired Vallite was able to truly be at ease for what felt like the first time since her mother passed. Even in the lonely hours she spent wandering Krakenburg’s twisting, beautiful chambers, she always felt the presence of the dark sorcerer and the fear that he would leap from the shadows and drag her off to the dungeon to assist with his testing and training of Corrin.

“I should be going. You have to return to your duties, I’m sure,” she told the butler, who grimaced at the reminder.

“Yes. That old man Gunter is particularly relentless, with Garon and his lackeys gone.” His dark gaze met Azura’s again, and he managed a small smile. “Good day, then. Lady Azura.”

With another curtsy and a wave of her hand, Azura drifted out of the small, messy kitchen and back into the hallway in which the royal sibling’s quarters were situated. She had barely taken two steps when Xander materialized from one of the doorways and nearly ran over her.

Both of them froze. The prince was only at the age of fifteen, yet he was already like a mountain, even moreso in the dark, stiff armor he’d been gifted recently. But his usual intimidating aura was not present. _He’s a mess,_ was Azura’s first thought. The blonde locks that normally flowed off to either side of his face were disheveled and stringy, more than a few of them having broken out from beneath the black metal crown to fall across Xander’s forehead. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, ringed in gray and purple, his jaw set in a way that made him look much older than he actually was. On top of this, his normally astute posture had been replaced by a slight hunch that would’ve been normal on anyone else, but not on the crown prince who was constantly held up straight by his duties, never yielding to the pressure.

Xander stood there, the only movement on his features being his eyebrows lowering to furrow. Part of Azura wanted to speak with him – he hadn’t been seen in days. What had happened? Why in the world hadn’t he retrieved Corrin? But his appearance answered all of her questions. Corrin… she was so distressed _, she must have turned back into a dragon_. And perhaps… She wasn’t sure if the girl was capable of it now, since she hadn’t actually witnessed any of Iago’s “training” sessions since the book incident, but just maybe she had… flown to the top of the cage and Xander had caught a glimpse of her…? Even Azura, knowing Corrin so well, had the occasional nightmare about that dragon turning on her. And she could easily recall the fear she first felt, entering that place.

Suddenly she felt queasy with regret and guilt. What had she done? What had made her think this was a good idea? Xander was hopelessly loyal to Garon – he was his father. What would seeing Corrin, girl or dragon, do to change that? Xander didn’t know Corrin’s story as Azura did. What if he told Garon? Or, worse, Iago? What would become of _her_? What was she thinking? The frail princess faltered slightly, stumbling away from the ghostly prince.

The movement seemed to wake Xander from his daze. All of the sudden he spoke, his voice more shaky than it had been when he was a child. “Azura… Tell me… What… What _was_ that…?”

She was overcome with fear in that moment. Not only of what Xander might do, who he might tell, but also the fact that she truly could not trust him. Could she trust any of her siblings, or had she been kidding herself this whole time? What had she gotten herself into? All of the sudden, the image of Xander, whose large form was blocking out the nearest lantern, became blurry. Warm tears rolled down her cheeks and she buried her face in her hands, struggling to breathe, crumpling against the wall. Images of those guards, the witnesses to Corrin’s transformation and victims to Iago’s magic, their withered skin and gored armor, flashed through her mind.

“Azura!” Xander, his confusion overcoming his fear of the resurfacing memories, knelt down beside his sister. Up close, he could see her shoulders were trembling. “What’s wrong? Please, I just want to know… What that was… What… what has Iago been making you _do?_ ” The last part was hushed, as though the sorcerer, wherever he was, may overhear.

Azura could only shake her head. Her hands trembled beneath long strands of blue hair. “Please… Please… I can’t… Please, don’t… tell Iago… J-just forget it happened…”

Xander, at Azura’s sudden emotional outburst, did as he always did with his siblings and pushed his own feelings aside. A hand placed itself atop the princess’ blue hair. “Azura? Calm down. Why is he sending you down there? I’m asking you… What was that thing?”

“I-I can’t…! I can’t… Iago, he’ll… If I say anything, he’ll… kill me… he’ll kill you too, probably, he’ll kill her…” her words blurred into incoherent sobs and Xander could only frown, his thoughts becoming even more muddled.

Obviously, he realized, his questions would accomplish nothing, not now, at least, except cause Azura more emotional distress. And the prince couldn’t help but distrust anything that had Iago’s name on it, regardless of how close the man was with his father. He attempted to take on a softer tone, but it was difficult with his voice. “Azura, just tell me – that place, that you’re being sent to…” His fist, the hand that was not atop Azura’s head, clenched tightly at his side. “That dangerous place… How long have you been going? I cannot permit this, not as crown prince nor as your brother. To be sent to… feed meat to… some kind of… beast…” His stomach turned again, sickeningly, as he struggled to lock away the images of that monstrous face coming at him.

Azura seemed to understand his question and straightened all of the sudden, slowly lowering her pale hands and resting them in her lap, gathering up bunches of the black silk of her gown. “No. It’s not dangerous… Not for me…” She shook her head as if she were confirming that fact to herself. “No… She would never hurt me.”

Xander narrowed his eyes. “She..?”

The princess then teared up again, and pulled her knees to her chest before burying her face in her arms. “But Iago… he would hurt her, hurt me, if he knew… Please… you can’t say anything… please…”

After this, Azura’s words became all but unintelligible. Xander took what time he could to comfort the princess, while contemplating her cryptic words and what it all meant, before she finally calmed down and coldly sent him off. He'd never seen her so upset before. If Azura had any sort of defining trait to her personality, it was that she was always composed, hard to read.  _But of course I wouldn’t speak of it_ , he thought to himself, slipping off into a daze as he wandered the castle’s dark upper halls, lit only by long, crimson lamps. That scene… that spire… seemed like an illusion, surreal. Like he had found something he wasn’t supposed to find. It was so much worse, too, that he was crown prince, his father’s son, snooping now around the castle. If his father knew, only the Gods knew what he might do as punishment. The same went for Iago. That unsettling snake deserved punishment for putting little Azura through so much… of whatever it was…

But ultimately, Xander, despite his position, was powerless. So, no, Azura didn’t have to worry that he would speak about this secret of her’s and Iago’s, the incriminating chore she had had him do that evening. Perhaps she should have been concerned about Xander _not_ speaking about it, of repressing it, having it along with the seeds of distrust it had planted within his mind haunt him for hours, days, _years_. This dragon, or whatever that monster was, was just another item on the list of things Xander did not understand about his lord father or the country he was meant to someday rule.

Soon after the incident, Garon and Iago returned. Xander was silent on the matter, feigning calmness and immersing himself in his roles as a prince once more, and Azura maintained distance from her siblings for some time, grieving for Corrin and trying to find a way to move on.


	7. In Endless Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corrin learns more about herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter is definitely where the "Angst For Days" tag applies (or starts to because hoo boy we havent even opened that can of worms yet) but sorry if anything feels too OOC, or has the past few chapters, because the characters are still way younger & probably wouldn't talk/behave the same as they did as adults, so idk it took some thinking about
> 
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> Also wooow over 100 kudos! Thanks so much to everyone who has left some! Comments too - I haven't replied to them all yet but I appreciate it! I'm just sort of writing this and hoping it sounds acceptable lmao, so it's good to know i'm doing *something* right with it.

“ _Corrin, dear! Dinner!”_

Mikoto’s silvery voice was music to her daughter's ears. Corrin wriggled out from beneath her covers, which felt so much softer than usual. Her clothes felt looser, too – a simple yukata clung to her body, not the clunky armor she was suddenly so used to wearing. “ _It’s specially made, just for you.”_ Her father’s rumbling words were clear in her mind, but for some reason Corrin felt a painful throbbing in her chest at the memory as she followed the smell of seafood and herbs through the simple, sunlit halls of Castle Shirasagi. She paused while crossing a bridge to look out across the colorful courtyards and rolling green hills beyond. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, mixing flecks of saffron in with the puffy rolling clouds that lingered at the base of the castle. _“We were going to wait until you were older for you to try it on, but this is a very special event we’re going to, so we want you to wear it, even if it may still be too big, okay, dear?”_

Corrin increased her pace as she walked. Her mother’s voice sounded off again, this time coming from a different direction. Special event… event? That was… What was that, again?

The girl turned into a wide room with a low-lying table in the center. The family’s private gathering space. Her mother was there, by a window, holding a large dish of food and she instinctively ran to the woman, latching onto her leg. When Mikoto elicited a giggle, Corrin looked up, red eyes wide and full of joy, and…

Where was her face? Everything above the woman’s shoulders was dark and blurry. The girl stumbled backwards now, and suddenly she was barefoot, the hard lines of the tatami mats pressing into her skin. What was the event she had to go to? Where was her mother’s face? Corrin squinted at the woman as she turned and seemed to tilt her head in question. And where were her siblings? Their names… what were their names, again?

Then, the image shifted, all at once. Mikoto’s body became larger all of the sudden, adorned in obsidian armor, and her face was visible now, grey and withered. Stringy hair, a mix of coal black and white, sprouted from a balding scalp. A wicked, beast-like grin took over this man’s face. There was blood splattered across his armor.

Corrin screamed and darted out of the room, sprinting down another hallway. She called out for her father. Everything began to spin, and the hallways became foreign, grim and dark and full of ornate, twisting patterns, highlighted with sharp blotches of orange light. Her father appeared before her, finally. She looked up from his boots… only to find his body pieced with black arrows, and a large gash running through his chest. Blood gushed from the wounds, some of it landing on Corrin, and it was hot and red and she screamed again. The man didn’t respond. She looked up further, to his face, only to find it shadowed like her mother’s.

Slowly, a mix of her tears and her father’s blood clouded her vision before it went completely dark. Her body cooled, as did the atmosphere, until she opened her eyes again to find herself in an entirely different, and yet sickeningly familiar, environment.

The Hoshidan princess sat up, her tiny hands in her lap. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She took deep breaths. This was the dungeon, she told herself. She still didn’t know why she was here, and she didn’t want to think about it, so her thoughts moved to the other issue brought up by her dreams – her parents. Sumeragi and Mikoto. Their names came so quickly now. Why hadn’t they in the dream? Why did she have to think so long to remember what their faces looked like? How could she ever forget about Mikoto’s calm demeanor or Sumeragi’s silly mustache?

She was able to recall them now, now that everything was fresh in her mind, but…

The girl sat back, taking in a shaky breath.

How long would she be here?

Would she forget the faces of her parents?

What about her siblings?

Ryoma, Hinoka, Takumi, and baby Sakura…

The thought of the bubbly children lifted Corrin’s woes. _They’ll come rescue me_ , she thought. _I know it._

-*-

Corrin stared blankly up into the darkness, trying to make out the criss-crossing bars in the dim light. How far up did the cage go? When was it put here, anyway? She couldn't remember it being placed. She just woke up one day, and it was here.

Or had it been night? It was impossible to tell, anymore. There was no sky that darkened and lightened, nor any trees to show the changing of seasons. There wasn't even a change in the temperature as time moved forwards, an ebb and flow, sometimes soaring by and at others, at an infuriatingly slow crawl. The only way she could really tell was the little things, like her hair getting longer, her nails growing, and the distance she was from the ground when she stood up all the way. Azura, too, was a sort of clock in herself, with her appearance changing ever so slightly now and then, and with the stories she told of the world outside.

Corrin hungered for those stories. She drank them in, just as she drank in the presence of any person that would appear one day in her dungeon, whether it Azura, Iago, or the occasional physician he brought with him to check up on her. More than anything, she just wanted to see more people, different faces, hear different voices, hoping that maybe one of them would be familiar to her.

Her family haunted her. It was sometimes too much to bear, to talk to Azura about them. At first it had been easy and worked to cheer her up, pull her from her long bouts of crying, sleeping, and crying again once she woke. But as time passed - or, she thought time passed - it became more and more evident to Corrin that her siblings were not coming to save her. Of course they weren't. As she absorbed Azura's stories and lessons and filled her mind with the books the girl brought her, Corrin developed some sense of rationality within her, that told her that even if Ryoma and the others wanted to rescue her it would be next to impossible in the heart of the Nohrian capital, unless they somehow bested the nation of conquering in war, which, according to Azura, was not on her mother's mind. But still, Corrin prayed.

And, memory. Corrin's memory was so choppy that it would've been frustrating if there was anything significant, worth remembering going on in the dungeon. She would wake up on the opposite side of her cell, not even remembering settling down to sleep, feeling sore all over. Her memory would sometimes cut off in the middle of a visit with Iago. It was as if her mind, her own body was betraying her, like she was losing contact with it. And, of course, there were isolated incidents when _that_ would happen - adrenaline would suddenly seize her body and a limb, usually a hand or arm, would twist and change before her eyes, and she'd be so disturbed by this that she'd fall unconscious again, waking up what was probably hours later completely normal, and slightly hungry.

It was at one point, not day or night because Corrin simply could not tell, that she truly began to distrust herself. She sat in her bedding, a mess of tattered blankets and fabric sitting on the side farthest from where Iago would normally teleport in. Beside her was her usual sack of food, left some time ago by Azura. Inside it was the usual collection of stale breads, fruits, and other unidentifiable, half-eaten meals which had taken some time to adjust to. She had been munching on a corner of the bread when there was a sound, quiet yet piercing in the silence to her sensitive ears. A squeak.

The girl's head snapped up, and the last few crumbs of bread slipped from her fingers, rolling across the ground which was just slightly slanted towards the drain to the sewer. It stopped just outside the small crevice, and Corrin's red eyes followed it only to widen as she spotted the creature that had just climbed into her cell.

It squeaked once more, and then crawled up to the crumb, grasped it in two tiny, pink hands, and ate it. Corrin only stared, her mouth hanging open. A rat. Regarded as pests, whether you were from Hoshido or Nohr, but... Somehow, its presence here was Suddenly in a hurry, Corrin moved back over to the bag of food and pulled out another chunk of bread, then set it before the rat. To her surprise, it crawled back over and began to eat again, its nose twitching as it did, glancing up at the girl every now and then. She just sat there, watching in amazement. When at last the rat finished its meal, looking a bit plumper, she began to giggle so much that tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

"You're so cute...!" she cooed, wiping at her cheeks and lowering herself to the ground to get a closer look at the rodent. "If you come back tomorrow, I'll give you some more food, Mister Rat."

The movement spooked the rodent, and it dashed back down into the sewer, leaving Corrin alone.

-*-

Corrin's new friend returned, and not alone; on perhaps its fifth visit there was another with it, slightly plumper but much shyer than the first. The girl bounced with excitement and immediately took to sharing a quarter of her meals with the little creatures.

"The big one's a little grumpy," she said to Azura one day, not noticing the princess's tendency to keep herself at least five steps away from the rats at all times. "So I named him Saizo. You know, the ninja kids I told you about? The smaller one is Kaze."

The blue-haired girl chuckled lightly. "That is cute, Corrin." For some reason, she sounded sad, but Corrin knew by now not to press such issues. Besides, little Saizo appeared to be extra hungry this time, having already gone through two biscuits and a chunk of meat.

"You should be careful, though, Corrin," advised the girl. "Rats often carry diseases..."

"I know, I know," replied the Hoshidan, running a hand down the animal's soft back. "But I've always been really resistant to sicknesses. I'm sure I'll be fine."

It wasn't entirely the truth. Shortly after her arrival, when Corrin was still a distraught mess, before Azura spoke to her and before she even understood her situation she'd had a deadly fever that was only worsened by the cold, dry climate in the spire. Iago had said she was near death. She didn't know how she'd recovered from it.

"Why don't you hold Kaze, Azura? He likes being held," she suggested with a wide grin.

"Ah... maybe another time," the girl replied, holding both her hands up before her. "I should be going."

-*-

Corrin felt particularly nauseous as she came to, finding herself lying on her stomach in the center of her cell. Her back was burning furiously, and her muscles were almost demanding that she stay down, but there was a smell in the air that forced her to get to her feet. Her nose twitched in disgust when she noticed the wetness on her gloves, the red liquid that came off when she ran her fingers along her gray plate gauntlet. But what was that smell?

She stumbled over to the sewer, figuring it must be coming from there, but stopped when her bare toes brushed against something smooth and cold. Corrin stepped backwards and glanced down - only to see, among an impressive array of gashes and claw marks in the stone, two mangled, unmoving rats.

 _What...?_ The girl fell to her knees, reaching out towards the smaller, Kaze, and then stopping herself. "K...Kaze?"

The faint traces of blood on her gloves came into view again, and Corrin's mind began to whirl. Gods, she had a headache. What happened to them? How could this have occurred? It couldn't have been Iago... could it? She remembered him being here when she was last conscious, yes, but Kaze and Saizo weren't. And he wasn't here now. And he never carried any physical, solid weapons, yet the mess here was clearly done by something sharp. Something large.

Corrin was snapped from her thoughts when she realized the hand that she was holding before her was changing, ever so slowly, the fingers twisting and the nails growing. It looked so surreal; that couldn't possibly be hers, could it? But she certainly could feel it changing, feel the the sudden weight in her right arm.

All at once, then, that fiery adrenaline was back, seizing her mind and causing everything to go black.

-*-

It was during Iago's next visit that Corrin at last asked the question that had been creeping in the back of her head.

Her voice came out weaker than she expected; she was on her knees, hunched over, sweat dripping down her forehead as the sorcerer had just forced her into another running exercise in which he summoned a fire spell that chased her down, forcing her to sprint laps around the perimeter of the cell. She raised her head just slightly, locks of hair falling to her face and sticking to the skin. "You... I..."

Corrin could just barely spot him turn halfway around, watching her from beneath his golden mask. Azura was up against the wall, glancing anxiously between the two as she usually did.

"I... What... _am_ I...?" She curled her hands into fists, again remembering the bizarre shape they had taken on more than one occasion. "What's... what's happening to me...?"

Azura tensed, drew in a breath. It didn't occur to Corrin until now that, perhaps, it was not normal to pick up on such things. To be able to hear Iago's footsteps as he approached from far above, or feel the hum in the air when a spell was gaining power. To black out as much as she seemed to.

The sorcerer glided back to the edge of the cage, smiling down on Corrin. He breathed in through his nostrils. "So, you are aware of it at last?"

She flinched. "A-aware of what...?" Dread pooled in her gut like hot tar.

"That you are not human, like the rest of us," he purred, bringing his hands up to the bars. "Something in your blood is just different. It's impressive. _You_ are a dragon - that is, you're supposed to be, and eventually will be, once we are able to rid you of _this_ form permanently."

 _A... dragon?_ "T...that doesn't... make sense..." Corrin shook her head, hands running into her tangled hair. Dragons were mythical things, and they'd all but died out or retreated to the astral planes, save for the wyverns. They didn't exist, and they certainly didn't take the form of humans, certainly not her, she'd been human her whole life... It was absurd. "I-I'm not..." But it explained her claws, didn't it? And the huge chains? The pain when she woke up...? Why couldn't she remember? "I don't-... Mother would have... I-I have the same blood as my siblings, and they..."

Iago sighed. "Siblings. They may have the dragon's blood as well, but it is not volatile like yours, child. It's more that they are human with the Dawn Dragon's blessing, while you, well... you're more just a feral dragon, with your human form acting as a sort of containment, I’m sure." He crossed his arms. "You may not retain any memories from when you're transformed, but that's hardly a concern of mine. King Garon will likely only need the dragon for his purposes, not the Hoshidan princess."

She wanted so desperately for him to be wrong. She had _always_ been a princess of Hoshido, a daughter of Sumeragi, same as her siblings. She couldn't be different... She couldn't be different, and yet she was locked up here, she had bouts of blurry memories laced with the rawest fear and rage she'd ever felt... And the claw marks... She'd cared for those two rats, _named_ them, and yet they had meant nothing to her when she had turned?

Apparently, Corrin had spaced out, because when she looked back up both Iago and Azura were gone without a trace, and the usual sack of food was sitting inside her cell. But she was far from hungry right now - if anything, she felt she might be sick. Her head was pounding incessantly, preventing her from sensing things as keenly as she had earlier. _I have to get out of here... I-I can't be... A-a..._ _I can’t let them…_ Running on pure panic, Corrin scurried over to the small hole in the ground that led to the sewers, staring at the stone around it. _This can't... I need to see Mother... Ryoma and Hinoka... I-I have to get out..._

She had never tried escaping before, though she had certainly fantasized about it. She'd always been too exhausted, or had not had the confidence - not that there was an easy way out, anyways. The entrance to the sewers was much too small, but... But....

Corrin knelt beside it and brought her hand out in front of her, going pale as it grew and twisted into a claw. Gods, it made sense now. Thinking back, this had happened many times in the past, but that same blurry deliriousness had followed each occasion. Even now, with her pounding headache, it was hard to quiet the adrenaline rushing about, trying to misshape her other hand, too, and her legs and back and skin. It was as if just drawing out one claw created a massive crack in a dam threatening already to burst.

The distraught princess retained her focus, though, enough to gouge a hole in the frame of the sewer entrance big enough to slip through. Without thinking, she dropped into the narrow shaft, and everything immediately went black. She slid on her back along the passageway before the ground gave out beneath her, and she was screaming for a brief moment in midair before she landed in shallow water with a splash.

Slowly, Corrin blinked open her eyes. It was still dark, but there was just barely enough light to make out the stone ledges on either side of the sewer, as well as the slanted passage she'd fell from. No, with her eyes (her sight perhaps heightened from tapping into that power again) she could see just fine; the smell, however, was overwhelmingly rancid, and the water seemed to cling to her skin and armor.

Corrin wheezed and stood up, panic still energizing her muscles. Gods, she was out _. She was out._ In the sewers, but out of the cell nonetheless. She bounded up one of the ledges onto the path beside the waterway, then began to sprint, faster than she'd ever run in her life. _There has got to be a way out here. Somewhere..._ She fought for air, taking in hungry gulps of the stench, eyes watering, and rounded a few more corners. _Even then... What will I do...?_ The rocks grew slick with water, and each of her steps caused some to splash up around her. _Azura said this is Windmire... Castle Krakenburg..._ Iago's taunts echoed in her mind; even if she were to escape, then what? She was a princess of Hoshido to these people. She'd never been to Windmire, and hadn't even been out of the spire in years, probably. Azura had told her Iago had eyes everywhere. Corrin wheezed. It didn't matter. It didn't matter. She _had_ to get out of here. The Nohrians were doing something to her. She needed to see her family again, surely they would reassure her she wasn't... She wasn't a...

Somehow, the air began to smell fresher. More humid, and faintly metallic. It tickled her nose. Gods, what she'd give to see the daylight again. _There must be an exit up ahead... A drain, anything..._ Corrin gritted her teeth hard as she ran even faster still, stumbling around a corner, and...

And coming face to face with... with...

She didn't even know how to describe the throng of creatures that stood before her in the damp sewer tunnel. Giant masses of muscle and flesh, adorned - held together, maybe - by metal ornaments and chains. Their heads, which were just little round balls atop their massive torsos, were protected by egg-shaped helmets. The holes covering these had some kind of saliva or ooze dripping out onto their turquoise skin.

Corrin skidded to a halt, feeling her heartbeat speed up to triple its normal pace. All at once, the mass of creatures - perhaps a dozen or so? - turned. For a brief moment, the girl and the monsters stared at each other; then one of them roared, and they all clambered forwards at an alarming rate, filling the waterway with the thunderous sound of stomping.

The princess screamed and took off in the other direction, a hand moving to her stomach where by now she'd already gotten a cramp. Her bare feet, too, grew numb, and she lost track of her own footsteps among the stampede of thuds, slipping on what she'd prayed was the right turn and falling into the water again.

In a moment the army was already upon her, leaping from the walls and flinging themselves around. Corrin rolled out of the way of a meaty fist which then pounded into the floor, then barely jumped backwards to avoid a whipping chain on her left, the links nearly half her size. Running in the water was not an option. _But if I stay here I'm going to get mashed._

And for a moment she was back in Cheve, and Sumeragi was there telling her to keep fighting, not to let herself die. Corrin's body moved on its own; she swerved to the right to dodge another swiping fist, crashing into the wall, and then shot out one arm, gasping when it took a sharp lance-like shape. The tip jabbed one of the monsters in its throat and it cried out furiously; the sound seemed to send vibrations through Corrin's very bones. The other monsters paused at the outburst, and Corrin took the opportunity to start for the stone pathway again - but, Gods, it was too far up. She was too short... She couldn't grasp the wall to climb it, either, as her hand was still malformed. Behind her the army continued its onslaught...

But, again, her blood seemed to respond to her panic and a surge of pain ran up her spine. Corrin swung her head around, to find... to find... _A-a wing...?_

The girl's shock only loosened her control on things further, though, and before she realized it she was at the top of the wall, stumbling across dry ground again. The tunnels had gone completely dark again at some point, as well, yet she was able to turn and intercept another chain being whipped towards her with her transformed arm, sending it flying back into the monster's head. _How?!_ Where she was unsure of the way back before, Corrin now was able to spot the tiny passage from a dozen yards away. She leapt off the ledge of the walkway, glided across the water, and landed on the other side, the monsters still hot on her trail. With another wheeze, she heaved herself into the shaft she'd initially fallen from, and dragged herself up and up with her right arm, as the left was still misshapen, hanging limply at her side. Sweat and grimy water clung to her skin, soaking the clothes beneath and weighing her down even more. Gradually, though, the cries of the hulking monsters grew muffled and then silent.

With a groan, Corrin dragged herself the rest of the way into the cell, lying flat on her stomach until the stench filling her nostrils became unbearable. Heart still beating out of her chest, she sat up and placed the shards from the mangled flooring around the drain roughly back where they'd been, then lugged herself over to a small tin tub a few feet left of her bedding. It was always full of extra water from the daily water skins she was brought, and despite the lukewarm temperature served well enough as a place to rinse off. Corrin nearly fell into it.

The water was cold, but enough to bring the princess out of her panic. She sunk down, rinsing the muck from her skin and attire. She found herself intrigued with her grossly misshapen hand, turning it around and around above the surface. _Dragon._ The word echoed in her head still. _Dragon. Dragon._

When she was finished, and her hand had returned to its normal size, Corrin dumped the dirtied water into the sewer drain. She stared at her distorted reflection in the bottom of the tub for a while, then tossed it aside and began struggling with the straps on her armor. As always, it was impossible to figure out, and she had half a nerve to use her damned mutant claws to tear it off. All Corrin wanted to do now was to be sure the skin on her back was smooth, to reassure herself that those wings were gone, perhaps just a hallucination. But the Gods wouldn't even give her that, would they?

Exhausted, the girl crawled over to her bedding and curled up beneath the sheets of foreign and intricate designs. Each time she closed her eyes, images of the monsters in the sewers, their metal adornments glinting in the faint torchlight, flashed before her, threatening to reawaken the blood Iago had described as volatile. Corrin brought her knees up to her chest and instead simply watched the brazier's flames. She remembered again that she no longer even had the rats to give her company, and, quietly, she wept.

_I'm never going to escape this place._

-*-

"Azura, are you scared of me?" Corrin asked one day over a large text on the knights of Cheve, voice barely a whisper.

The princess’s golden pools widened. "Scared...? Why would I be..." Her head shook back and forth. "Iago, I am scared of. But not you, Corrin."

Corrin sat back, a dry sigh escaping her lips. "But I- I'm... Y'know... And I can't control myself in that form, either... I hurt Kaze and Saizo before. I could hurt you, too." _And my siblings, if I ever saw them again,_ she thought to herself.

A tiny hand placed itself on Corrin's armored shoulder, and her gaze moved down from the dark bars to Azura's pale, oval-shaped face. She was smiling, just barely. "Don't forget that as long as I'm here, I can bring you out of it." Her other hand moved to the pendant hanging at her neck, the band still far too long, and her fingers wrapped around the jewel at the end. "That's what my song is for."

Corrin was always so intrigued by this magical song. Even when she was unaware of the true reason it was being sung, it was so soothing. Why did it have the effect on her that it did, anyways? "Isn't there any way... you can use it to keep me from transforming at all...?" The question was a desperate plea, but Corrin hardly felt any shame at asking at this point.

Azura, however, felt a wave of shame and it washed over her features until she scooted back a little, her bottom lip sticking out in a frown. "I..." She sighed this time, as Corrin straightened, watching closely. Recently, she had had a growth spurt, topping Azura in height and size, as all the time spent as a dragon seemed to fortify not just her mind, but her body as well. "There is a way to dampen its effects, I think, from what my mother taught me, and I've been trying to figure out how to do it... and when." She met Corrin's eager gaze, the red eyes that were almost glowing with anticipation. "After all, if I mess anything up, Iago could take notice and ban me from visiting you completely. Then, even the small things I can do for you now... Even those run the risk of him finding out. Believe me, I have thought about this for hours and hours..."

Corrin looked away. "I understand..." She traced a pattern in the floor with a trembling hand, no longer interested in the book. "I'm... I'm just scared."

"You have every right to be," responded the Vallite. "But whatever they plan to do to you, it can't be for a few more years, at least. Iago says he wants to wait until you've grown up."

Time was absolutely nonexistent to Corrin at this point, though Azura had mentioned that it had been three years since she was brought to the castle a number of rests ago, so perhaps that would mean she would be cooped up in this tower for a while still. The thought made a shiver run up Corrin's spine. She couldn't imagine how things could be worse. Already, she felt so powerless, and it made an aching frustration in her chest well up. Corrin ran her hands into her hair, so long now and unkempt, and tugged on the strands as she squeezed her watering eyes shut. In a moment Azura was there, trying to pull her arms away, though her frail body did nothing to deter Corrin's strengthened one.

Azura. She supposed the princess would only be needed here so long, right? If she was being used to calm her from her transformed state. Iago had said many times that what they truly needed was her dragon "self". He had already stopped referring to her as "Corrin," "Hoshidan princess," or even "girl" entirely. Would she one day be stuck in that form, never to see Azura again, a slave to the Nohrians? She opened her eyes to find herself shivering quite violently, and fear forced itself into the mess of emotions swirling uncontrollably in her head. _No... Not again._ They had just finished this. They had just finished this and she and Azura were relaxing, reading books, chatting as always-

But she saw the familiar black texture crawling up her hands from beneath her sleeves, and Corrin cried out, trying to articulate her plea - "Get out! _Get out!"_ Azura would not leave, though, she simply stepped back, as Corrin's vision changed and suddenly she was much taller and her senses were running wild.

And suddenly all the emotions she felt that day in Cheve were there again, overtaking all rational thought. Garon. _Garon_. His image, even the smell he gave off was infuriating and the tiny figure before her reeked of it too, of Nohr, she was the same-…

Everything was just starting to fade when that familiar song drifted into Corrin's mind again. Azura. _This girl is Azura_. Each syllable was gentle, articulated, the words drawing her sanity back. Relief flooded Corrin's muscles, soothed her thoughts and she felt herself reverting to normal. When she regained her vision fully, Azura was finishing the last notes, a waning blue light surrounding her.

"I'm sorry..." croaked Corrin. "I'm so sorry... I... I can hardly fight it..."

Azura remained silent. The Hoshidan picked up on the sound of rustling, and then a soft thud, and her head shot up to find the Nohrian princess collapsed on the ground, her swirling blue tresses pooled beneath her. Bubbly, violet energy encased her legs, blotchy on her skin like some sort of infection. Corrin crawled over, frantically, and held a hesitant hand over the girl's body.

"Azura?! A-are you okay?! What's wrong?"

The girl only lay there, panting, and then everything ceased as abruptly as it had begun. The skin on her legs returned to a normal color, and Azura wiped the sweat off her face. She spied Corrin's concerned expression and immediately got to her feet, but not without wavering.

"I'm sorry... T-that's just... a side effect, it happens sometimes. Pay it no mind, Corrin. I'm glad I could at least soothe you of that transformation." She wouldn't look her friend in the eyes, and her feet shifted back and forth beneath her silky, indigo robes.

Brow furrowed, Corrin stood up, as well, her emotions written all over her face. "That looked pretty bad, though...! Are you sure?!"

She reached out to touch the princess's arm but Azura jumped backwards as if Corrin were still a dragon, shaking her head, golden eyes flashing dangerously. "I'm okay. I should be going."

-*-

Shortly after the incident, Azura stopped coming to visit entirely. At her first absence, Corrin had assumed she might've fallen ill, or perhaps her sister Camilla had taken her on a trip across the country - they'd been talking about that, apparently. But the next time she was conscious during one of Iago's visits, Azura was still not there, nor the next time and the time after that. Eventually she tried asking the sorcerer about the girl's whereabouts, even though she was well aware of his cruel and uncaring demeanor, and likely to lie.

"I noticed she was attempting to befriend you behind my back, to teach you all sorts of unnecessary things," was his response. "And we truly do not have a need for her anymore, down here."

Corrin swallowed, fearing what dark words regarding her fate might come next. Nohr wouldn't execute its own princess, would it? But from what Azura had said, King Garon seemed the type to do such a thing.

But nothing else came from Iago on the subject. He continued his work, which at the time was summoning a Faceless - the monsters in the sewers had names now, apparently, and with his control they were an efficient way to push her to her limit - and made no other mention of Azura's fate. Corrin assumed the worst, feeling guilt build up inside her, and soon Iago with his Faceless minion had her transforming again. She didn't even bother fighting the rush of adrenaline in her mind this time, losing herself in the raw emotions.

What was the point?

-*-

In the first few months after she was brought to the spire, Corrin's transformations had come easily due to the shock and her own lack of control. In the years after that, with Azura's help, though, there was at least some sense of control in that she didn't lose herself every time she was remotely upset. There were low points and high points, of course, with the time she first discovered her identity being a particularly low one. Now that the girl was gone, it was as if some kind of barrier had been lifted - of course her pendant and the song provided protection from the madness she was told she could suffer from, but her friend was gone, too, her one connection to the world outside.

Thoughts of her family went from comforting to tormenting as she realized she may never see them again, not before the Nohrians changed her into something unrecognizable. She wondered if they had known. Did it matter? Maybe that was why all this was happened - they wanted to be rid of her, they wanted her to be kidnapped and maybe she could go mad and destroy Nohr from the inside. Iago had said as much countless times before.

Corrin felt she was losing herself. Perhaps this was what dying felt like, not a quick one like her father’s but a long, drawn-out death, like someone had a vice grip on her soul and was tugging it from her body. Azura’s song had been the one thing to snap it back into place in her instability. Without it, now, Iago would perhaps finally have his way.

-*-

When she heard the faintest trace of footsteps, Corrin ceased her wailing and snapped up from her slouched-over position, her red eyes wide with anticipation. All thoughts of her family – the one thing that could still keep her in check – were left behind her. Someone was approaching. Perhaps they had food. Or perhaps Iago was coming to toy with her head again. Already, the Hoshidan princess could feel her thoughts racing by, her senses expanding and intensifying.

Iago. Corrin shivered as she stood in place at the center of her cell, unblinking. Iago. It was as if ice cold water had been dunked over her head. In a flash of magenta light she shifted completely, and, furiously, she charged forwards into the cage. The magic seared against her hide but bloodlust kept her moving, pushing her wings around, maneuvering up and up as the intruder's noisy movements became clearer and clearer. He was on the walkway, now, nearing the edge. Slow and unsuspecting. Some strong instinct within Corrin took over, ordering her to attack the sorcerer, toss him off the edge, claw his limbs off, crush him beneath her tail, anything…

But before anything could be done the girl's mind yielded to darkness, the same blurry and slightly ticklish haze overtaking her thoughts as the world around her faded.

When she came to, Corrin was at the bottom of her cell again, unable even to move, a horrible burning coming from her neck. The rest of her body was numb. She flailed for a few moments, before giving up, wondering how she ended up like this again. The blackouts had become so routine lately that she wouldn't bother reviewing what had happened before and where her consciousness had cut off, but given the state of her immobile body she figured something must have been different this time. Scarlet eyes squeezed shut and she wracked her brain for memories that might concern this pain.

What she found were snippets, brief yet incredibly lucid, of herself in a much larger form, looking out at a hauntingly familiar walkway, at a hauntingly familiar _face_. Her neck burned wildly and she cried out, but tried to focus in on the memory despite the pain.

That was not Iago.

It was a boy, his golden curls all out of place, cowering right in front of her and screaming for his life. His eyes were a rusty red, his skin almost too pale. The rest of his small body was covered in training gear, the leather padding boasting patterns of dark greens and grays, and a violet cloak hung off of his shoulders. The colors might've normally been muted in the setting, but in her mind they were almost too intense and bright compared to the grays she was used to. And the scent... Perhaps driving her rage further was the scent that emanated from him, unmistakably the same as that of King Garon.

Corrin opened her own eyes, a hand flying limply to her collarbone. Her fingers were cool and soothed the pain some, enough for her to collect her thoughts again. _Who was he? Why was he here?_  Her head pounded incessantly, as if trying to limit her thoughts on the subject. No one else ever came here, not anymore. Not even the physician. Iago wouldn't tell anyone of her whereabouts, not until she was “ready” perhaps, and the only other person who knew was... Azura.

Another memory drifted before Corrin's eyes, of a big book full of thoughts of her own family in Hoshido. She pushed the faces aside and focused on the ones Azura had shown her. _Elise... Camilla, Leo... and Xander..._

Yes. _Yes_. Without a doubt, that person... The boy she had just tried to _kill_ , it was the prince, Xander, Azura's brother, he somehow made it here, she could have called out for help, tried to yell up to him, anything and instead she had-...

 _Gods, no..._ Corrin's teeth began to clatter as she lay limp against the cold stone. _He was right... He was right, wasn't he...?_ An escape, and the idea of her family rescuing her was suddenly so unimportant. After all, what if they found her, only for her to be completely mindless? What if she hurt them? And according to Azura, there was no fighting this madness that had apparently eaten away the minds of countless dragons before her.

What, then, could she do, besides rot here until she lost herself completely?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, about Corrin in particular since she's part-dragon or however that works I'm just assuming while writing that-  
>   
> A. she's still affected by the whole "madness" thing that manaketes/other dragons in FE games are (I'm pretty sure this is stated in canon though when she gets the dragonstone),  
> B. that, since she's a "hybrid" or whatever and half human, she still ages like a normal person and is maybe a little more sensitive to the madness thing than full-blooded dragons,  
> C. staying in the dragon form probably increases physical and mental strength when she's not in it, basically the only thing keeping her from losing her sanity altogether after being stuck in a dungeon for however many years, and also how she retained her memories during Cheve rather than losing them due to trauma (?)  
> D. this is mostly HC since it's not specified in canon, but her armor's pretty similar to her dragon design right? So I'd guess that's something from Valla (like the hoshido throne is) made specifically for her to give some kinda protection when she's transformed. I mean yeah, or the Nohrians could've given it to her when she was kidnapped, but it does look pretty Valla-like right? i dunno.
> 
> also I just want to add that we're done with the big ugly dungeon setting now (thank god)


	8. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiar blood comes to Corrin's aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with some mention of/spoilers for the Hidden Truths DLC, more explanation on how it plays in at the end notes.

As unpleasant as Nohr’s eternal dusk was, it provided good cover for those who did not wish to be seen. This included thieves, outlaws, drunkards and the like – populations that strived within the country. Necromancers and sorcerers dealing with dark magic, too, used the shadows to their advantage when sneaking about from place to place, conducting unsavory experiments.

And then, there was Lilith. In the form she’d assumed – that of a small, blue dragon – she would undoubtedly draw attention if she was spotted. But her destination was unreachable in her human shape, she knew, not without alerting dangerous people and jeopardizing her mission, surely, so taking on the inhuman form was her only option. It also allowed her the ability to fly, and further conceal herself from the keen eyes of the Nohrians.

The long, ridged columns and gothic sculpts characteristic of Nohr, combined with this constant darkness, then, allowed the tiny draconic girl to sneak into the country’s capital city with ease. She avoided guards and magical barriers, was wary of sentries, and silent enough to not alert a single soul in Castle Krakenburg of her presence. But she did not think of this as she swam through the air towards her destination. She thought only of that girl, Anankos’ daughter, her _sister,_ the one named Corrin.

All sorts of emotions pressed Lilith’s heart like pin-needles as she hovered through the corridors. She still remembered the way the human Anankos – her _father,_ even after leaving and training briefly with the astral dragons the concept still was foreign to her – had muttered the name of his daughter before passing, gently and with more love she’d ever felt in her life. He had given up his life for those three warriors with him, begging them to help his daughter. The urgency was foreign to Lilith, too. The human Anankos, from what she’d understood in his brief conversations with the warriors, had sensed his child – his, and the human woman Mikoto’s – was in graver danger than even before because of her blood, driving him to try and assist her as soon as possible… even at the cost of his own life.

It had all been so sudden, yet Lilith felt, strongly than she ever had in her life, a sense of duty towards her father, not the mad dragon who'd enslaved and abused her for her entire life, but the human who had held her tiny hand in his larger, warmer ones as his body was eaten away by Valla’s curse and the life faded from his eyes. She had no idea what kind of person her sister was, what being imprisoned might’ve done to her, but it didn’t matter because she _had_ to do this last service for her father. As a Vallite with no standing in Nohr it’d been difficult even to find her way into Windmire, nevermind locate the lost princess, and requesting help from the astral dragons had been even more difficult considering the way she'd rushed through her training. They’d accepted her initially, but they did not like her, nor did they appreciate her value for worldly possessions and her devotion to her family, but it didn’t _matter_ to Lilith what they thought, just that they would be able to guide her towards her ultimate goal: Corrin.

And here she finally was, in the bowels of Castle Krakenburg, gliding in what felt like total darkness, but she did not fear it as it was _nothing_ compared to the dungeons and tunnels beneath Castle Valla. Even her sister did not have to suffer so terrible a fate as being a slave to Anankos, alone in a dead kingdom, as bad as all this was.

When a number of braziers came into her field of vision, Lilith knew she was nearing the bottom of the dungeon, and shifted her gaze to the cage at her left. Within it, lying in a gray heap was what had to be Corrin. She was very clearly nonhuman, and if Lilith ever had any doubts about Anankos’, her father’s, connection to Corrin, they were cleared now. Deep gouges covered the gray brick floor, overlapping with each other, and the cage was bent in some places, just barely.

Sorrow surged through Lilith, along with a fierce need to protect this girl, and the astral dragon paused. _All of it has lead up to this. I won’t leave you, sister. I won’t abandon you, never. I’ll do what our father could not._ Tail swishing back and forth, she floated towards a gap between two of the bars, not quite wide enough for her to move through but surely she could squeeze her way in, it wasn’t that tight…

…And the figure within, all at once, came to life, like a match being lit, leaping from her four legs at Lilith. Out of sheer surprise the smaller dragon moved away from the bars, and gasped when Corrin flew straight into them, her upper body smashing against the grate, a roar of pain erupting from her. Lilith’s shock only lasted a moment as she noticed the marks that appeared in the same pattern along the dragon’s hide; glowing, intersecting lines, not unlike burn marks but obviously heavy with magic. The cage was enchanted. _No wonder it seems so unscathed._

Immediately Corrin tumbled backwards, landing on her side and going completely still. _The magic… is that strong?_ Lilith neared the bars again, carefully, eyeing the air around them; sure enough, there was energy flowing off of the metal in waves. _To go to this much of an effort to keep her caged in… They must truly plan to degenerate her completely… This is what he was so afraid of…_ Worry was among many other foreign emotions that made Lilith’s heart beat faster as she flew back up, far up, to the top of the cell where the bars were slightly wider apart for some reason. By the time she slipped between them, she was in a nosedive, almost a free fall, her tail rippling behind her. _Corrin… to think they’ve treated you this cruelly… You haven’t done anything wrong…_

Upon reaching the bottom, the astral dragon noticed that the searing marks on Corrin’s armor were still there and she gritted her teeth. _Damn those Nohrians. No… you know it’s ultimately Lord Anankos that has done this. To his own child…_

Lilith curled up beside the unconscious dragon, clutching the orb between her paws tighter and focusing on the plane within so as to transport the two of them there…

-*-

The astral plane that Lilith had picked out wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Rolling green plains stretched as far as the eye could see, with wide, hazy mountains just perking up over the horizon. A river, she knew, ran by some hundred or so yards from where she normally teleported in, and spreading out from it in a gradient were dozens of blooming cherry blossom trees. Speckling the ground around them were wildflowers that left a sweet, calming scent in the traces of wind moving across the valley.

They appeared in a dusty clearing in a bright flash of light, though in the midday sun it was hardly a disturbance; not that there was much here to disturb, as this plane was far from any settlements or dangers, the only creatures occupying it being songbirds, small rodents, and harmless insects. The ground around them was cleared into dirt, along with a path that led up to a massive oak not far ahead; after skipping most of her training to prioritize her search for her sister, this was all Lilith could really do with the power of the Dragon Veins and the astral dragon’s strength.

She explained this much to Corrin after, finally, she had come to; for hours Lilith had sat there, watching the unconscious dragon as her sides rose and fall, and was snapped from her trance when at last the form began to shrink into that of something human. Immediately, she had awoken, breathing heavily, trembling, glancing frantically at her surroundings; and all Lilith could do for a few seconds was just stare at this girl, her sister, the daughter of Anankos sitting unharmed (physically, at least) before her, she’d _done_ it, made it this far at least, bringing her to the astral plain… and Lilith felt herself tear up. She had amazingly red eyes, the pupils not quite round, just like hers, and pointed ears, a clear marker of her blood.

“What- where…” The astral dragon was shocked out of her trance when she realized the girl was crying. “Is this a… dream? Everything feels so real…” Her fingers curled into the grass, and she took a deep breath, calming her sobs somewhat – and then she pointed her chin into the air, sniffing the breeze that blew through, oblivious of the few cherry blossom petals that’d been caught in her matted hair. “T-this can’t be real… Because… it’s too much like home…”

 _Home._ Hoshido. Of course. It only made sense that Corrin wouldn’t remember Valla. Lilith had the wealthy kingdom where Corrin had lived for some time in mind while picking out a suitable astral plane, but hadn’t quite expected a reaction like this. _Then again… She’s been locked up for however long._

Corrin blinked, rubbing at her eyes and surveying the land with one misty gaze again. She ran her hands through the grass once more. “It can’t… be real… This is another dream  - I’m in the cell still… In Nohr…”

“Hello, Corrin,” Lilith started, and her sister nearly jumped out of her skin. _Oh, what a first impression…! You fool!_ Thought the Vallite in despair, but she didn’t give up, moving more into her sister’s field of view. “I’m the one who brought you here.”

“You…” The girl was still panting, trying to get a bearing on what was happening. “But-… This place… I don’t understand… This is a dream-“

“It isn’t a dream, Corrin,” urged Lilith, brushing the girl’s shoulder with her tail. “I’ve brought you here – you must not remember because you were a dragon when I transported us. And unconscious, after butting your head against those bars…”

Slowly, the girl sat up, crossing her legs. Her eyes widened into circles as she looked Lilith up and down. “Wh- what are you…?” Her head tilted. “A fish? A bird…?”

“I’m a dragon, like you…” _and your sister, another daughter of Anankos…_ “an astral dragon. Excuse the form I’ve taken… If it seems strange at all. I mean you no harm.”

Already Corrin’s gaze had wandered to the plane beyond her again, and she sighed through her nostrils. “Is this Hoshido…?”

Lilith hesitated. Her sister asked with such fondness and hope that it almost felt cruel now to crush those hopes. “…No. This is an astral plane, empty, an alternate realm that happens to greatly resemble Hoshido. I… I figured you might prefer something like this, but now I realize it may remind you too much of your home which you were taken from. I’m so sorry, Corrin…”

Her head shook back and forth and crimson eyes met golden ones again. “No… no, this is… I…” More tears spilled down Corrin’s cheeks as she fell onto her back and stared at the sky, which was dotted with puffy clouds. “I don’t… know what to say… I would’ve been happy to be anywhere but there… Thank you so much-“ a sniffle – “for saving me… but… why…?”

Lilith struggled with her words, fighting the urge to simply tell Corrin the truth, of her parentage and of their relation and of Anankos, but her rationality bested her emotions as always. She could not turn back now, not go against her promise to their father and her decision to never speak of her true background. There was also the curse, and the fact that any more details than necessary might overwhelm the young girl even more than she already was. So, Lilith offered the explanation she’d been preparing since she’d first left Valla to seek out the astral dragons; “I am assigned to you, Princess Corrin. The astral dragons learned of your situation; that one of royal blood, a descendant of the Dawn Dragon, was imprisoned and endangered.” She swallowed, hoping that to a child her lie would sound more convincing than it did to her. “So they tasked me with helping you to the best of my abilities. A guardian of sorts…”

The dragon turned to the large oak, sighing. Filling the silence her pause brought was a gust of wind that replenished the rain of falling petals and filled the air with the soft shivers and whispers of the leaves. “But I’m afraid I’m still an astral dragon in-training. So this is all my abilities can offer you right now, Corrin… There’s no food here, not yet, no way to live here for a long time… I truly am worthless.” _Yes…_ The feeling piled up on top of the guilt already clogging her thoughts, and her voice, always shifty and echoing in this form, became muted. “I cannot even summon you up a roof, or a bed; only that tree, and the clearing around us. Forgive me for failing you so soon, Princess Corrin…”

Lilith gasped when she felt a hand on her spined back, and spun around to face her sister once more. Where she had been expecting a frown of dejection and disappointment, the astral dragon was met with a small smile that puffed up Corrin’s cheeks. “I don’t really understand everything,” she said, voice cracking, “but you didn’t fail me. T-this is…” her other hand rose to her eyes to wipe a glistening tear from her lashes, “I dunno what to say… It’s just like home… It’s more than I ever thought I’d get to see again… Thank you…”

The astral dragon again had to fight the urge to nuzzle closer to Corrin and offer comfort, knowing deep down that even if it didn’t raise suspicions to her sister, it might encourage Lilith herself to act similarly in the future. _No, you must steel yourself, for your Father’s sake. Do what you can, act within limitations, or you could ruin everything you’ve done so far…_

-*-

Hours were spent playing and resting in the fields. Corrin spent much time crying, and an equal amount laughing in glee as she climbed trees at an astounding speed. They’d kept her prisoner, but she certainly was not malnourished. If anything, she was amazingly agile for someone as young as her, and as far as Lilith could tell, intelligent and level-headed, too. She inquired about the astral dragons and the astral planes, and the Vallite answered the questions that she could, as honestly as she could. When the girl at last settled down, lying her back against the oak tree, eyes trained on the sunset blooming on the horizon, Lilith broke the bad news that they would have to return to the cell; a forlorn look had hardened across Corrin’s features but otherwise, she’d complied.

The cyan glow from Lilith’s orb enveloped the duo, and in a heartbeat everything darkened back into the grim setting of the spire. The breeze, light, scents, the sense of life itself, everything vanished and it was so jarring that Lilith recoiled for a second. Corrin appeared disoriented herself, blinking, coughing, and shaking her head. “I’m afraid your captor would sense the magical disturbance I created here if he returned and we were still gone,” she explained, holding the orb up for Corrin to see, its misty, bizarre contents constantly shifting. “When we would finally resurface for food, should he discover me… I’m afraid…”

The girl fell to her bottom and sighed. “I don’t really know what all that means, but I think I get it. It’s the same thing that happened to Azura… He would hurt you if he found out. And I won’t let that happen again…”

 _Azura…?_ Lilith noticed the cloud that fell over Corrin’s face so she did not press the issue, swirling closer and brushing her shoulder with a ribbed tail. “However, now that I’ve located you, I will visit very often. I’ll try and continue my training with the astral dragons in the meantime to bring more amenities to the astral plane, and… I’ll also investigate around the castle to try and find a way for you to escape this place.”

Dull red eyes flicked towards Lilith beneath long, messy gray bangs. “…Okay.”

The faith was very obviously not there. Lilith wasn’t even sure herself if she’d be able to blend in with the Nohrians, nevermind discover anything about what might be their biggest secret. But now that her sister was sitting before her, physical, _real,_ her _family,_ she was not going to sit idly by and watch her rot away, degenerate into the same monster her father had become, giving the last ounce of his sanity up to try and destroy. _I’ll do what I can,_ she thought as she fluttered through the darkness, up to the castle’s main floors. _And I’m certain that those heroes will also do their part, but I can only hope their intervention will not be too late._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like everything else in Fates idk if there's a clear time when the Awakening trio + Lilith enter the Fates world, and when they join up with the main group, etc., but it's likely closer to the start of the story because Leo and Xander still don't seem to know Odin/Laslow that well, and so on... but I'm excusing the fact that Hidden Truths occurs way earlier in this fic with the idea that Anankos could sense that Corrin's already transformed/been exposed to the whole madness thing, and realizes he needs to act way sooner, and so the events of that DLC go into action sooner.
> 
> As for the Awakening trio, I'd actually love to do a chapter on them but idk. I do think it'd take some time for them to go from wandering nobodies to royal retainers, like, years, whereas Lilith was also aware that Anankos was in a bit of a rush to help his daughter, so she took a crash course in astral dragon-ing and left to find Corrin, but unfortunately it left her skill set in the astral planes a little limited.


	9. Embrace the Brand-New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to quickly mention again that there's a damper on Lilith's powers on this. Without going too much into it, basically she can't teleport people via astral realm (once they enter it w/ her orb thing, they return at the same spot), and she can't really summon up a lot of stuff within the realm (neither can Corrin since she's had no formal training w/ dragon veins yet), she can shift between astral dragon/human (I'm not sure if she could in the game?), and lastly that she has to be present in the astral realm for other people to be there, otherwise they'll just get booted out whenever she leaves. I'll go into more of that later, for now don't worry about it too much haha

**II**. the fortress

 

 

Autumn was in full bloom for the land of Nohr. In every town, whether it was a major city or rural village, harvest festivals were held, celebrating whatever meager amount of sustenance had come from the farms that season. The crown prince, however, having just recently returned from another bloody skirmish outside Cheve, knew that even in such a joyous season, many of these cities were swimming with unrest, whether it be from isolated attacks by Hoshidans or a lack of assistance from the crown. In the years passing King Sumeragi’s death, the king and his advisors had focused their efforts on the war, among other things that weren’t the peasant’s food supplies. Assassinations seemed to be the Hoshidan’s preferred method of combat in this war with no front, as over the years they’d sent in groups of their ninja to take out Nohrian officials that were not within the safe boundaries of Windmire. Each loss instilled more tension between the nobility and the common folk; without the governors and lords to ease communications, discontent with King Garon was at an all-time high, and with it the crime rate across Nohr. Crimes, unfortunately, beneath the law of Xander's father, were not let off lightly.

Windmire was one of those few cities which avoided the more severe unrest. Its alleys were alit with braziers and torches and candles that fought off the city’s usual gloom with warm, saffron light. There were always more citizens wandering the streets around this time, too, as much of Windmire was usually deserted – no thanks to the population of thieves that was likely thriving within the underworld, somehow, the prince supposed… Every time the city guard was closing in on a nest of outlaws, they’d somehow see them coming and disperse. Windows were a soft, welcoming yellow and makeshift food stalls had seemingly grown out of the ground at every street corner like saplings. The _cluck-cluck_ of hooves against cobblestone, muffled, mixed voices of Nohrian families, and the faint tunes of street performers all mingled to create a lively atmosphere in the city that was otherwise dead some nine months a year.

For Xander, this had been more uplifting than he’d expected. He had only been out of Castle Krakenburg three or four times since arriving back at the capital a week ago. To see grins on the faces of his people, when the country was in such a desperate state, and to hear the excited chattering of his retainers at either side of him, greeting villagers as they passed, brought a ghost of a smile to the young prince’s lips. For months, traveling across Nohr, all he’d seen was tension and bloodshed, and received only glares from passersby. On his rare visits to the capital, as it usually went, the streets had been deserted save for the shadowy glimpse of a ruffian or the slouched-over form of a drunkard now and then, and he’d had to again put up that barrier between himself and his younger siblings. The crestfallen looks that they cast his way hurt as much as any blade on the battlefield would.

This time, though, Xander promised to himself that he’d spend more time with them, to catch up and offer advice. Two of the five nights he’d been home, they had joined up to eat supper together; the other three, everyone had been much too busy with other affairs. Yet even on those precious two occasions, Xander had felt the distance between them. The prince scowled bitterly as he marched down the castle corridors, squeezing his hands together behind his back. It’s not like he would have been of much help, if Elise or Leo had approached them with a problem, he told himself. Regardless of his position as their older brother, the years of taxing work given to him by his father and his position as crown prince had hardened him to the point where he was probably unrecognizable, and given him a cold, strict demeanor. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that that might be the reason his siblings were so hesitant to truly open up to him, to have a heart-to-heart. It was so simple, yet so damn difficult to get around this, to revert to his normal self after putting so much work into perfecting his prince self.

Suddenly Xander stopped in the middle of the hall, beside a tall, arched window through which the red light of an autumn sunset was bleeding through. Did that part of him even exist anymore? Would he even ever be able to recover that version of himself, the one that was caring and terse, wise and approachable? Or was he just the crown prince, now, cold and serious and dedicated, putting his country before his family whom he had been through so much with? The prince gritted his teeth, eyes widening, hands squeezing into tight fists at his sides. Panic seized his body, and he stood there in the streak of hot orange light, unable to move or even breathe as he dared to allow the thought pressing his mind to surface:

_Am I… becoming my father?_

The idea brought a strong wave of nausea over Xander. He pushed it away, then wondering why this would be so repulsive in the first place. Hadn’t he aspired to be like the king when he was a child? Yes, he reasoned with himself, of course – strict, but kind, compassionate. A leader, an icon, and the strongest man he’d ever known as a boy, his hero… But… the man his father was now, regardless of the reason… he was hardened, cold, cruel, and the idea – the _fact_ – that Xander could be becoming just that was horrifying, yet his sibling’s behavior seemed to be testament to that.

“Ah, Lord Xander!”

The familiar, bubbly voice of one of the prince’s retainers brushed his ears, but still he remained standing, spacing out.

“Lord Xander?” The second voice was followed by a heavy hand placed on his shoulder.

The prince jolted out of his daze, swinging around to face the two. Closer to him was a young man, a noble from Windmire, whose specialty lay with axes. As always, he had two strapped to his belt, the bronze hilts gleaming to match the rest of his earthy-toned attire. The first was a woman slightly older, a graceful bow knight renowned for her efficiency in battle. The two had been his retainers for years now, and were his most trusted allies in battle.

“Are you well? You seem a bit pale, sir,” spoke the fighter, giving his lord’s shoulder a heavy pat before dropping his hand.

Xander shook his head, taking a short breath in an attempt to dispel the dreadful thoughts. “I’m just fine.”

The bow knight placed both her hands on her hips, letting out a chuckle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Lord Xander! I have heard that there’s been one haunting these halls.”

The prince only frowned. “It’s been an eventful day, that’s all.” He then nodded at the two. “Is there an issue?”

The warriors glanced at each other, shrugging simultaneously. Xander considered himself lucky to have retainers that were on the same wavelength. “King Garon wishes to see you, when you have a moment.”

The statement normally wouldn’t have carried so much weight, had Xander not just recovered from such an incident, so he nearly flinched at the words. “…I understand.”

The fighter raised and dropped his shoulders with a big sigh. “I know, a meeting with the king during something like the harvest celebrations… Really puts a damper on things.”

Xander merely stared at the ground. “It must be important.” He’d have to mentally prepare himself to face his father again.

“Well, anyway, tell us if we must run halfway across Nohr or something for you, alright, sir? We’ll be around, as always.”

“Have a good night, milord! Don’t let the ghosts get you!”

The two bowed and moved to leave. Their even footsteps soon faded into the distance, and Xander was left alone again with his thoughts.

-*-

It was dusk when Xander reached the throne room, and any traces of the lively atmosphere out in Windmire were gone, swallowed up by the towering keep walls. The hall, with its curling thorn vines and stark white pillars, was all the same despite the season, as it always was. Elise had mentioned something before, in passing – _It wouldn’t hurt to spice up this place a little around the holidays…_ Truly, it wouldn’t, Xander found himself thinking. His father’s grim countenance was the same, too, sitting atop the throne, resting his head against one balled fist. He moved to stand as Xander marched through the grand doorway, his flowing, silky cloak shifting out of the stone seat with him. He'd seemed larger, more imposing, ever since the prince returned from his most recent expedition.

The heavy doors swung closed behind Xander and he did nothing to stop them, sending an echoing _click_ through the room. He was much too distracted to care. Stiffly, Xander approached the throne and dropped to one knee, the motions ingrained in his mind at this point.

“Father,” he said, eyes narrowing at how his voice was not as hardened as it usually was, as it had to be. “You summoned me?” Xander bit the inside of his cheek as he finished, willing himself to calm down. He briefly recalled the quaint scene of Windmire, of joyous townspeople juggling mountains of vegetables and decorations between colorful stands. A memory seized his mind for a mere second, of his father taking him through the streets on a similar evening, allowing a starry-eyed Camilla to ride atop his shoulders and his son to stumble along at his side, holding his hand. Amongst the warm current of voices had been his father’s booming chuckle, which attracted attention from surrounding partiers (much to the young Xander’s chagrin) but was so comforting nonetheless, and now…

_Perish the thought._

“Yes,” responded Garon gruffly. “As you know, Windmire is a very popular destination this time of year.”

Xander began hypothesizing what plan his father might have, and it made his stomach turn. “It is,” he replied, strengthened by how even his voice now was. He fought back an urge to encourage the king to join in the festivities, to walk the streets and see the townspeople as he had. Perhaps it would improve his mood, remind him of better times… The suggestion felt like a joke, for some reason. Inappropriate. “Do you have something in mind?” His thoughts whirled as he tried to figure out what his father was thinking. “Are we at risk for an attack by Hoshido? I can lead a defensive unit if needed-“

“No, my son, no… This is a celebration, after all. Be at ease. Rise.” The words were meant as a command, but his tone… there was something bizarre about it, something off-putting, and Xander did as told, straightening to find that his father had descended the stairs and was standing before him with those blank, unnerving eyes.

And yet, looking closer, there was something strange in the king’s eyes, the tiny rings that were the same burgundy as his own. It was something nostalgic and brought a spark of hope to Xander’s frozen-over heart. “My, how you’ve grown, my son,” observed Garon. Xander only realized now, himself, that he’d overtaken his father in height, though just barely. The older man may have aged and grayed, but he stood as straight as ever, and wouldn’t grace anyone with a hunch purely out of pride.

Xander glanced down, shyly, almost. At the observation, which had almost, to his ears, sounded like praise, he was unable to keep in his response. “I have, it seems, father. I only hope one day I can make as regal and imposing a king as you do.”

Garon merely grunted at this.

“So, as you’ve seen, the capital is booming… So, in light of the… seasonal cheer… I’ve decided to hold a birthday celebration for you,” he grumbled, stepping back and running a gloved hand through his thick beard.

Taken aback, Xander straightened again, his eyebrows rising out of their usual scowl nearly to reach the curled metal crown on his forehead. “A… celebration…? Father…” It was true that his birthday was coming up in just less than a week’s time. But the most he had expected was a quick, secret dinner party with his siblings. His father hadn’t acknowledged his birthday in years – the last time Xander had even mentioned it to the man was when he’d turned twelve. He’d been coldly dismissed and sent back to his duties. In fact, the crown prince had perhaps come to despise the day because of that, because it reminded him, like many things, of his father’s sudden coldness.

But, to think he would decide to celebrate it all of the sudden, publicly, and presumably on his own accord… Xander was suddenly battling a heat behind his eyes, the presence of tears. He scoffed and glanced in the other direction. He was conflicted, horribly so, the revelation tearing him in two, with one half weeping in joy that his father was finally showing signs that he was coming around, coming to his senses, that his older self might return. The other half was the one that manifested itself; bitter and negative as he’d become so accustomed to behaving.

“It’s a bit late for that. I’m already an adult…” The words surfaced before he could consider them, and immediately the prince recoiled, not daring to watch what his father’s reaction would be.

“Exactly. You’re coming of age, my son,” Garon said, turning around once more to look the boy in the eyes, and there was just the slightest tip to his lips. “It is only right that the entire kingdom of Nohr be aware of this fact.”

Xander felt as if his heart had suddenly leaped into his throat. He stood still for a moment, watching his father’s expression, his grayish countenance that was uplifted ever so slightly, and then decided to excuse himself. “Very well, Father. Thank you…”

The prince bowed and stepped back to leave, but Garon kept speaking. “It will be held in four days. As the crown prince, I expect you to partake in a tournament, a showing of strength for Nohr’s people.”

The boy didn’t pick up on the creeping, manipulative edge to his father’s voice, nor the glimmer in his crimson eyes that suggested an ulterior motive. The words were said as though he were sighing, relieved to finally get to the point of an otherwise trivial conversation. Xander nodded. “Of course, Father.”

“You have been progressing well, my son, both on and off of the battlefield. I expect your condition in this tournament to be evidence of that.”

This time, Xander picked up on the amount of pressure the king was really putting on him, yet it hardly came as a shock. He could not forget that he was just as much a prince as he was a son. Pressures like this were nothing to Xander, he was accustomed to them, lived them. “Yes, Father. I will be in peak condition. For the glory of Nohr,” he added, bowing his head just slightly, curled blonde bangs brushing his eyelids.

“For the glory of Nohr,” Garon grunted in response, before heaving himself back up the stairs to his throne.

-*-

The mid-morning sun filtered through the clouds, filling the usual dismal training grounds outside Krakenburg with soft, gray light. They were situated just beyond Windmire’s walls, nestled between two enormous hills of matted grass, a mix of gray and a dark yellow. Further out were smaller estates belonging to high-standing nobles and farmlands, as well as ranches for the many horses and wyverns the Nohrian army used. A lodge sat at the center of the training grounds, built of sturdy pine wood and stone. A large chimney poked out of the top of the roof, where puffs of smoke would escape into the gloom from sunup to sundown. Across the grounds, the faint tunes of music could be heard from within the tavern, riding the wind that swept across the plains.

Around this building were a number of wooden rings and tracks meant for dueling or jousting. Tall flags encircled them, the Nohrian emblem waving lazily in the breeze. On the hillside was a stable, which was currently crowded with a mix of nobles, warriors, and farmers traveling into Windmire. Aside from this, there were also four different barracks, on the north, south, east, and west ends of the training grounds.

Xander directed his horse towards the winding dirt path that led to the stables. He was fully donned in his obsidian armor, and Siegfried sat sheathed at his side.

The grounds, much like the city, were alive with citizens, probably due in part to the upcoming tournament. News had already spread throughout Windmire, and all who were entering – that is, if they met the strict requirements there must’ve been to duel the crown prince – were arriving at the training grounds around the same time, as Xander was. Their small group could hardly travel a few feet without a deep bow from a group of old soldiers, or a tip of the hat and greeting from groups of observing nobles, or a boisterous hello from other warriors who still held respect for the crown. The prince might as well have been a shining beacon atop his horse in the sea of Nohrians.

At last, they made it to the stables. Xander’s retainers were laughing all the while about something he hadn’t picked up on. “Boy, that took a while.”

“Awfully popular, are you now, future king?”

He smiled. “I can’t remember the last time I saw Nohr this lively. Father’s decision was truly a wise one.”

The two retainers glanced at each other as a stable boy led all three of their mounts away. “Well, it’s your birthday, first and foremost,” argued the bow knight.

“Indeed,” agreed the fighter, dropping a few coins on the wooden desk just inside the stable doors. “It’s lucky to line up right at the peak of this year’s harvest.”

The three turned from the stables and headed back towards the training grounds. Xander was stormed by excited people at the foot of the hills, and his retainers, with exasperated smiles, moved to direct the bulk of the group in the other direction, with the promise of a duel between the two esteemed warriors to keep their interest. The prince escaped, ducking into one of the smaller, more isolated arenas. His hand sat on Siegfried’s hilt, twitching restlessly. There were only two other men here, both clad in thick armor, totally engrossed in their training. Xander’s gaze flicked back to the training dummy before him, hand tightening now around the blade.

A low _shhhh_ came from the sword as he drew it, ending with a light _ping_ as the point grazed the edge of the sheath. Xander could recall the day the legendary weapon was given to him with ease. It had felt much different than any blade he’d ever held – not heavy, yet not light either, the perfect weight to swing with one hand, yet long enough to be a two-hander. The most unsettling thing had been the energy it emitted; a deep, scarlet glow came from the sword’s blade, darkening at the edges. The energy seeped into his hand, up his arm, and his mind felt clear every time he drew the sword. Xander stared down at the curved black metal again, entranced. It was a feeling not unlike when one would activate a dragon’s vein in the earth, though less draining and more energizing. A powerful weapon fitting of the crown prince, and it had served him well ever since his father had deemed him worthy of wielding it.

Xander stood for a moment more before he shifted his feet and leveled his gaze with the shoddy wooden training dummy. He took a deep breath, two, and then swiped out his right arm, and Siegfried glided through the air, gentle yet deadly, leaving a soft whipping noise and a trail of red light in its wake. In the blink of an eye, the dummy’s recycled armor was split open completely and clattered against the floor.

The prince blinked down at the lowered blade, which hovered just above the ground, highlighting the shattered chunks of iron with smudges of scarlet. Behind him, the sharp clinging and hissing of the two training warriors’ weapons paused as they glanced over at the newcomer and the damaged dummy.

Doing his best to bear the attention, Xander stepped back a few feet before resuming his training, swinging the blade again and again through empty air, training as he would any other day. The sun disappeared into the clouds at around noon, traveling across the autumn sky before it met with the horizon again, and every hour or so one of the prince’s retainers would return with a different, seasoned warrior they’d found to spar with him. The scent of food and mead drifted across the training grounds as evening soon set in, however, drawing many of the Nohrians that had not already retired away, and eventually Xander’s retainers found their lord again, drenched in sweat and still swinging his sword. With much urging, the overtired prince was convinced to call it a day.

-*-

Azura was just about to reach Camilla’s chambers when suddenly, in a billowing wave of black and gold, Iago exploded from the doorway, his usual terrible smirk crawling up his cheeks. He didn’t seem to spy the foreign princess’ form at the corner of the hallway, dressed in her black robes, baby-blue hair pouring down her back. The sorcerer merely turned in the other direction and set off, jump in his step.

Once the princess was sure the man was gone, she skittered over to Camilla’s door atop her toes and knocked. It was promptly opened by the older princess herself, who beamed as she recognized the smaller girl, hands folded behind her back.

“Come on in, Azura!”

Camilla had a long table lying in the center of her room, by the fireplace and opposite her bed. It was already set up with a lavender tablecloth embroidered with spiraling black designs, and around it sat Leo and Elise, chatting idly. Camilla shut the door behind Azura, then drifted over to the table, curtseying before she took a seat.

“Big sister!” Elise exclaimed, setting down her teacup and throwing her arms into the air. Azura blushed a red that stuck out even more against her aqua hair as the young girl rose from her seat and nearly tackled the newest arrival. “Hehe! I’m so glad you came!”

“T-thank you for inviting me, Elise…” The youngest Nohrian princess was as bubbly as ever. Her hair had grown down below her shoulders, a blonde much brighter than Xander’s or Leo’s golden. The dress she wore, Azura suspected, was once one of Camilla’s, as the puffy, white arms and skirt, frilly trim, and black streaks were oddly familiar. However, around the sleeves and her tiny waist was bright pink ribbon – the girl must’ve added it for her own unique touch. “It’s been a while since I saw you all.”

“Yeah, Father is still so stingy about it…” muttered Leo. Of all the siblings, his appearance was the one that seemed to change the least over the years; always he’d had his short, smooth hair, a slight pout to his lips, and his back was always straightened, which now looked silly in the comfortable chairs placed around the table. His eyes now held some sense of maturity though, despite the fact that he was barely a teenager, and his pout was developing into more of a grim frown, not unlike Xander’s. The prince’s features softened, however, as he nodded at Azura. “Either way, I’m glad you could come!”

“I have some great news, while we’re talking about that, Azura, dear,” said Camilla, taking a seat at the table and reaching out two gloved fingers to lift the pearl teacup that sat before her. “Did you see Iago on your way here?”

“Yes,” replied Azura, tensing noticeably, and Camilla took note of this reaction with a brief frown. “What did he want?”

Leo’s own expression soured as he unhooked his dark cloak from his shoulders and reached for his cup of tea. “To remind us all we need to lock our doors at night, probably…”

Camilla ignored the comment, smiling again down at Azura. She really had grown quite tall, noted the younger princess. “He said Father is letting you attend Xander’s birthday celebration with us.”

Azura lit up at this, her golden eyes shining as they met Camilla’s. “Really?” She’d overheard enough about the event to know it would be one of the biggest and most exciting things to happen in Nohr this year, outside of the war. Even Jakob, Felicia, and Flora had said they were attending. Azura had assumed, as always, that she would be left out, and had made herself content with the idea of having the inner castle to herself for a day. To be given the chance to leave the castle and witness such an event – and beside her siblings, at that – was unthinkable.

The princess nodded, stray strands her long, lavender hair falling over her chest. “That’s right! You can get dressed up with the rest of us and stay by our side the whole day.” There was a hint of protectiveness in Camilla’s tone, as she thought about the harassment that surely would be thrown Azura’s way. “Oh, I just can’t wait to give you a nice makeover and pretty you up!”

Azura couldn’t stifle a giggle as her older sister clasped her hands together in joy. As she set down her tea cup again, Elise began to chortle as well, commenting on how strange it was to see her sister this happy about something. Across the table, Leo wasn’t able to hold back a grin of his own.

The conversation moved on, and Flora made three more trips in to replenish the tea. The two dishes of scones gradually diminished as well, and all the while the four were chatting openly, teasing one another, voicing their expectations for the upcoming celebration. Leo grew increasingly quiet, however, as he retreated into his own thoughts; eventually he was in such a daze, drumming one finger against the table and scowling down into his empty teacup, that Elise stopped mid-sentence and peered over at him.

“Big brother, what’s wrong…?” asked the girl, tilting her head to the side.

The boy was quiet for a while, his emerald eyes glued to the half-eaten scone on his plate. After what felt like an eternity, Leo spoke: “I-it’s nothing… just… Why does Xander get a celebration and the rest of us don’t?”

“Leo…” muttered Camilla, resting her hands on the table. Azura supposed their older sister had seen this coming. “I… I’m sure there’s a reason.” She didn’t voice what she suspected those reasons to be. The eldest princess was the most wary of their father out of his children, unless Xander was hiding more than she thought. But she wouldn’t let those suspicions and the distrust and stress they sewed into one’s heart be put onto Leo. “After all, Xander is technically coming of age, and there’s yet to be a public display of his skill with Siegfried, like it’s custom to have.” A careful smile then graced her lips. “When you’re older, Leo, I’m sure you’ll get a grand celebration, too, as a prince.”

The boy’s eyes lit up, and he fought to keep his excitement from traveling to his pouting lips. “You think so…? A legendary weapon… I wonder if I’ll be given the legendary tome Brynhildr, then...!”

Elise began to pout, then, asking when she would get _her_ legendary weapon, and Camilla tried to soothe her younger siblings as they bickered back and forth. Azura, meanwhile, sat back in her chair, fiddling with the ends of her hair. With the initial shock of the invitation gone, a nagging feeling now was growing in her heart, that perhaps there was something else going on here. The image of Iago’s smirk flashed through her mind again. To think that Garon would invite her to be with her siblings after neglecting her for so long… Could he feel guilty? Or was it something more devious? She had thought she’d been obedient enough to him, over the past few years, with the little errands she still ran for him…

-*-

The days rushed by as if they were anticipating the great tournament as much as the townsfolk of Windmire. The sun would rise, the Nohrian siblings would meet, Xander would hurry off to the training grounds to hone his skills; the sun then set, an exhausted, but confident, crown prince would return, the siblings would dine together, and Azura would stay up late into the night chatting with Camilla and their maids. Iago and Garon were both either too busy to mind the foreign princess’ closeness with the true Nohrian royals, or there were not enough nobles lurking around the castle and observing for him to care. Azura’s daily trips to the spire dungeon had also been called off by the sorcerer, with a cryptic warning to not even consider going near the spire at all until he directed her to again. Azura obeyed, though reluctantly, and not without another pang of guilt for the girl locked up in that dungeon. She’d found, over the years, that thinking too much about Corrin, what kind of condition she was in, led to a dangerous level of concern and anxiety that might lead her to doing something stupid again as she had with the crown prince. So, reluctantly, Azura had listened to the sorcerer and bought into the nonchalant, near-dehumanizing way he spoke of the imprisoned princess.

But Iago’s most recent aggression certainly had Azura worried, sweating as Jakob snuffed out the candles each night and biting her nails as she passed the throne room on the way to breakfast each day. Following the incident with Xander, there was always the concern that eventually, he would speak of it to that cruel king he was so unwaveringly loyal to. But that was the length of Iago’s wrath, and he’d left her alone, which told Azura that the crown prince had still remained silent.

And then, at last, the night before the tournament arrived as suddenly as a cat would pounce upon a mouse, and Azura lay alone in her bedroom, stiff and cold in her bed. Weariness had seized her muscles, as she’d spent the last eight hours going over plans for tomorrow and picking out different dresses and hair ornaments with the Nohrian princesses, so she could not leave to go and sing as she normally would when she was unable to sleep. The same weariness did not reach her mind. Instead, her thoughts stormed back and forth, to every problem imaginable, from simply tripping on the long gown she had picked out and falling in the mud, to being thrown into the arena herself and told to fight for the king’s entertainment. After rolling from side to side a few more times, the Vallite reached for the bell on her nightstand (she had always refused to use it, never wanting to put too much of a burden on Jakob since she believed she hardly deserved his service) and gave it a gentle tinkle. In a heartbeat, the butler was there, standing in the doorway with a candle, the wax dripping messily down onto a tarnished silver dish.

“Lady Azura?” Jakob asked, his long, untied hair, groggy voice, and puffy eyes enough to tell the princess that he hadn’t had nearly as much trouble dozing off as she was having.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Jakob,” responded Azura, swinging her legs off the edge of the mattress and pressing them to the floor. The tile was cool to the touch, and grounding somehow. “If you could prepare some tea…” Gods, always this was so difficult, thought the princess in shame. _Now my own problem is his, and…_

“Very well, milady,” Jakob replied, sounding as if he’d suddenly gotten a full night’s rest and one of the Ice Tribe sister’s frigid palms to his face. “Black or green?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember which supports he says this in, but Xander had retainers before Laslow and Peri that died in a battle with Hoshido. I didn't go too far into characterizing them or anything here to leave room for reader interpretation and stuff, since we don't really know anything about them in-game. But yeah, that's not Laslow/Peri in case anyone was wondering.


	10. Bread and Circuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A celebration is held for Prince Xander's coming-of-age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that "for the glory of Hoshido/Nohr" is just sort of a common phrase they use, especially the royals.

Excited murmurs filled the hall in which the lords and ladies of the Nohrian court were preparing for the day. Maids, tailors, and cobblers alike were rushing about, delivering this and that, making sure everything was perfect – if the normal pressure of the royal crown wasn’t enough, surely the fact that the subject of today’s celebration was the crown prince himself was enough pressure to put them on edge. Within the hive of bumbling Nohrians one might find a young squire with a head of messy hair, casting brief glances over to where the eldest princess stood, as well as a lone girl without a single attendant by her side, dressed entirely in black, her arms folded, pale blue bangs shadowing her face like a shroud.

Jakob’s head of long hair could be spotted in the sea of nobles, too, dressed in his spiffy new butler getup (a gift of the knight Gunter, with the reasoning that his simple dress shirt and breeches were unprofessional) that made him truly blend in with the others. Azura felt a tinge of warmth in her chest, at this. The boy bumbled about with purpose, making sure all of her accessories were with her; the long, indigo scarf, black tiara, and, of course, her mother’s gold amulet. One of the dressing ladies had complained that the bright color clashed with her outfit, but Camilla had gallantly stepped in, saying that it was perfectly fine for Azura to wear.

“ _It matches your eyes, Azura.”_

The foreign princess cupped the pendant in her hand, a faint smile forming on her lips. Truly, things had been dismal ever since her mother’s passing… but… _but perhaps… it could get better, from now on. Mother, please continue watching over me._

Jakob, who’d at last accepted that there was nothing else left to fuss over, took his place at Azura’s side. The two of them walked forwards, hesitantly, around a few throngs of nobles to where the other royal siblings were gathered. More than a few gazes fell on Azura before someone could snap at them to get back to work; the princess kept her head held high. When she’d first seen the flowing black dress, trimmed with lace patterns, she had thought she might blend in for once – the Vallite dress her mother had given her, remade in a larger size by Camilla not too long ago, would surely make her stand out at such an event. This gown, on the other hand, as delicate as it seemed to be, might allow her to appear as the Nohrian princess she was supposed to be.

Camilla was wearing something of a similar make, though the color was brighter, with stripes of lavender matching her hair running down the skirts. The neckline, too, was lower, but the older princess had seemed perfectly comfortable with that aspect of the design. Elise’s outfit was more of a standard for one of her size, the black fabric that poofed out from her waist lined with white roses. Her hair, shining and blonde, was twisted up behind her head and bounced behind her as she ran at Azura.

“Big sis! Are you ready?! Did I mention how amazing you look? Are you excited? I am!” The shorter girl jumped up and down as she clutched excitedly at Azura’s dress, and the older princess feared she might tear the fabric. Stiffly, she laughed.

“Now, now, Elise,” chided Camilla as she strode over, heels clicking against the tile floor. The princess had grown tall, but now with the shoes on she was at least two heads above Azura. And though the princess’s hair now cascaded down to her hips, her face had remained the same, rounded and soft. “We have to behave, today. For Xander.”

“Geez… I’ve been looking everywhere for you two…!” Came a familiar grumble, and the princesses all turned to the left to see Leo approaching, trailed by two maids, one of which was still trying to adjust the collar of the boy’s cloak. The prince huffed, dismissing both of the women. “Honestly… I don’t know why I have to be all dressed up for such an event…”

Leo wore a black waistcoat trimmed in gold, over a white dress shirt, topped by a long, midnight cape. Pinstriped gray and black breeches were tucked into knee-high boots, a combination of shiny dark leather and cloth. They had certainly tried to make the young prince appear more imposing and older than he actually was, and that combined with his strange posture – his hands folded behind him, back almost unnaturally straight – Azura would’ve thought he’d aged a year or two. As he noticed the surprised stares of his sisters, however, Leo flushed and glanced down. “W-what?  It’s not like I’ve never been dressed for a formal event, before, you three.”

“Usually you pick out everything yourself, though, and it ends up a fashion disaster,” Elise figured, earning herself a glare from the prince.

“In any case, I should be out there, battling, like Xander will be…” confessed the boy, his fingers clutching at the cuffs of his coat.

At this, Camilla gently placed her hands on his shoulders and hummed, “Don’t say that, now, Leo. You’ll be out there, one of these days. But you’re still much too young!”

He sighed. “You don’t have to lie to me, Camilla. I know you wish you were able to fight today just as much as me.”

“Oh! I wanna fight, I wanna fight!” Elise piped, raising both her fists out towards Leo.

“Heh, don’t kid yourself, Elise. You’re too fragile to ever even think of wielding a sword,” responded her brother with a smirk.

The two continued bickering, earning a sigh from Camilla, as Azura turned to Jakob once more. The butler noticed the unease stirring in her golden eyes, and grimaced. “Lady Azura? What is it?”

She kept her voice low. “If something should… happen, today, Jakob…” Hesitating, Azura crossed her arms. “Tell me: you’ve served me for many years now. Should something happen… Whose side will you be on?”

She was unwavering, and it felt to the butler as if the princess was staring deep into his soul, like he didn’t have to answer because she had already found his response within him. “Milady, my parents were loyal to the king and may as well have left me for dead. The Nohrians here were on the verge of tossing me onto the streets that they themselves have made uninhabitable. You are the one who truly gave me a second chance, and for that, I will always be loyal to you before any of the devious nobles living here.”

Relief flooded Azura and she let out the tiniest of sighs, again letting her arms rest at her sides. “Thank you, Jakob. I pray my suspicions won’t mean anything.”

“As do I, milady.”

-*-

“That is all I have to say. For the glory of Nohr.” Garon’s last words thundered across the throne room, ending his speech Xander found to be rather brief. The crowd called back a monotonous reply: “For the glory of Nohr.” He, too, replied out of habit, “For the glory of Nohr,” and then his father was sitting once more, and the audience was dispersing.

But the crown prince was hardly conscious of his surroundings. For the latter half of Garon’s great speech, meant to celebrate his eldest son’s coming of age, Xander had been seething, the emotions swirling madly around him closing him off to his surroundings like a shell of an oyster. He could not understand why. It must have had something to do with Garon failing to at all try to connect the crowd to Xander on a personal level, to talk fondly of his childhood or how much he had grown; the king spoke only of the crown prince whose power was second to none, who would soon lead the effort to crush Hoshido’s aggressions. It was almost like… Xander reaching adulthood only held significance to his father because it meant he’d be of more use, that he had reached a new level, ascended from a pawn to a rook within the game of chess Garon played with his subordinates.

As the ambiance slowly returned to the hall, Xander was roused from his thoughts, and became conscious of the tight scowl he was wearing. He surveyed the many heads still filling the spacious hall, pausing on those of his siblings. They were chatting, and out of earshot. It was Xander’s duty to stand to the right of, and two steps below, his father and king during such an event, so he’d not been able to join Camilla and the others. Silently, Xander quelled the desire to leave his post and at least greet them. One of his age should not still possess such wishes, he told himself.

With a final huff through his nostrils, Xander regained the little composure he’d lost hold of and turned to the king, falling to one knee. “Father… What shall I do next?”

“Head to the arena,” Garon replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’re expected there. They will ready you for battle.”

“As you wish,” Xander said, and walked as briskly as possible to one of the exits adjacent to the throne, desperate to avoid the bulk of nobles hanging about the castle. His plate boots clicked against the floor, loud and furious, at what Xander could not pinpoint. What was truly important was Nohr. His feelings towards his father meant nothing, especially in wartime, he reasoned. Hoshido was sending assassins left and right, sabotaging a country already weakened from its lack of resources. Coddling a grown prince was menial. He rounded another corner, cape whirling out behind him in a twist of violet. _I_ will _prove my strength as crown prince. If that is what Father desires to see from me, and if that is what will help our country, I will succeed._ The phrase sat on his tongue, always ready: _for the glory of Nohr._

However, Xander’s heated inner conflict was interrupted when he nearly tripped over something – someone, he quickly realized as he regained his footing. It seemed to happen more often than not – certainly they could invest in some better lighting…

“Ah…!”

Pushing a stray curl from his face, Xander glowered down at the victim, not yet drawn enough from his thoughts to react properly. It was a petite woman, wearing a commoner’s clothes, with deep blue hair running along her shoulder in a braid. If he hadn’t been so distracted, the prince might’ve questioned why what appeared to be a common girl was wandering the halls of Castle Krakenburg unsupervised; but he was, his thoughts still dwelling on the tournament ahead, and somewhere deep down he knew interrogating this maid could cause tardiness and, in turn, shame towards his father, so Xander merely knitted his brow together and mustered an “Excuse me.”

With that, he was marching down the corridor once again at an even pace, away from the mysterious woman. Her extremely anxious demeanor – her hands themselves had been trembling as they grasped at the tile floor – brought some questions to the prince, but he set them aside. _Focus on the task at hand, Xander,_ he thought, gauntlet resting on Siegfried’s hilt.

-*-

“Iago wasn’t there,” Leo commented absently, breaking the untold vow of silence the siblings had taken after their father’s speech.

The four were traveling separate from the bulk of spectators headed to the arena where the tournament was to be held. Already, they had left Krakenburg and were following an escort of guards to the arena in the grasslands north of the castle. The youngest prince was particularly grateful for the young stallion beneath him, as while walking on foot he’d nearly tripped over the boots too large for him more than a few times. Rolling plains of grayish-green grass scooped back down into Windmire behind him, and curved up to the massive wall marking the city’s outer perimeter before him. The road they took was marked every few yards by tall Nohrian flags, their triangular banners whipping in the wind that frequented this area.

“Hmm… He wasn’t, was he…?” Camilla murmured from atop her wyvern, Marzia. Though she was still in-training as a rider, she had insisted to father and to the lords preparing the event that she much preferred riding one of the drakes rather than a horse, and so they had complied, though two elite malig knights stood on either side of the young beast she rode anyway, to be sure nothing went wrong. His sister, Leo found, was growing up to be quite the wild child, even if her polite persona didn’t suggest it.

But she seemed content to discuss this subject instead of Xander and his sore expression throughout most of the speech. To anyone else they might’ve looked at the crown prince’s twisted brow and piercing red eyes and seen his usual image, one of a disciplined soldier, but his siblings saw further, knew that he’d desired more from Father’s words on a personal level. But there was nothing Leo could think of to say about it, so he’d turned to the next thing on his mind; Iago’s absence at his father’s side. “He’s always been there. And he didn’t say anything about leaving Windmire during our last training session, either.”

“Who cares? That guy is creepy! I hope Father gets rid of him,” came Elise’s chirp from the prince’s left. Immediately, the guard by her side turned away.

“Watch your mouth, sister. Iago is an esteemed member of the Nohrian court,” Leo managed to growl without fumbling on any words. He couldn’t argue that the man was shady and uncomfortable to be around, but his sister should know by now that formality came before personal feelings, especially in the presence of elite guards.

“You’re not the boss of me, Leo,” barked the princess, sticking out her tongue at Leo before urging her horse forwards. She moved beside Azura and the two began chattering back and forth, about horses and dresses and a certain uncouth Nohrian noble. The older girl, as always, appeared tense even with her back to Leo; perhaps it was only the horse she was atop, as he wasn’t certain Azura had ever been given formal riding lessons. As usual, that butler was by her side, the vaguely familiar one, and he wore that ugly scowl on his face, daring to glare at anyone who looked at his liege for too long, whether they were common or noble.

Scoffing, Leo went back to the book clenched beneath his arm. Whatever Iago was up to was no matter of his, he supposed. He’d always seemed to be hiding things beneath that eerie mask and feathered cloak of his. Perhaps it was Xander’s request that he not be present at the speech marking his birthday, too; even his perfect older brother held some disdain for that sorcerer.

-*-

The arena in which the crown prince’s battles were held was built into the ground, the ring made of wood, with an iron grate separating the crowds of spectators above from the pit. Standing opposite each other within the arena were two enormous Nohrian banners, billowing in the harsh wind that blew over the grasslands. The floor itself was dirt, hard and leached, decorated with dry splatters of blood here and there. Heavily-armored guards stood around the scene, with two on either side of the arena at tunnels where challengers were to be brought in from. Their eyes gleamed in interest at the scene unfolding before them.

Prince Xander had his latest challenger cornered; some lord’s boy, highly ranked in the army. All of the fighters brought in were related to nobles in some way, usually backed by a fair amount of money should they defeat the son of the king in combat, and each had been tested beforehand by Xander’s retainers to be sure that they were worthy of fighting their lord. Of course, after the rigorous training Xander had been under for years on end, it was hardly a challenge to best the combatants, and though disappointing, he knew it was important to show the crown prince’s power to the people of Nohr.

And so, atop his mount Xander moved in for the final blow. His opponent, wielding two battleaxes, raised them up in a last-minute defense, his knees quaking in fear at the blurry amalgamation of black, violet, and gold that towered above him. The paladin twisted his wrist as he brought Siegfried up in an arc so that its edge caught between the heads of the two crossed axes, sending them both flying into the air. With his left hand he then tugged on his horse’s reins, bringing it to a halt, and held his blade at his opponent’s throat, the muscles in his right arm burning.

“I yield…!” The man panted out, raising his hands in defeat, and Xander nodded in response.

The crowd was quick to react, with boisterous shouts and applause. A mediator called the end of the match, and a guard, alongside a troubadour, came to help the challenger out of the arena.

Xander turned to the side, sheathing Siegfried and finding his father’s figure in the mass above him. A stall had been erected, adorned with black curtains and teeming with guards. Within was Garon, beside the royal family and Azura. As usual, the man was unreadable and unmoving, not bothering to clap like the rest of the Nohrians gathered. The prince sighed through his nostrils. _No. Do not get frustrated. This is not a day for Xander; it’s a day for the crown prince of Nohr._

A few minutes passed, with the occasional healer coming out to try and attend to Xander’s wounds, but he insisted he was healthy. The spectators restocked on bread and cheese and wine, and a few brave men dared to approach Princess Camilla with flowers. (She would accept them, but as soon as the suitor’s gaze had diverted she handed them to Elise, who began braiding them into crowns) At last, the blaring of trumpets announced the end of the intermission, and the herald took his place on his podium once more.

“Now, with all other contestants defeated, we introduce a special guest; the champion of the Common Tournament that was held on this morning.”

The spectators quieted. Xander flicked his horse’s reins just slightly and turned to the tunnel through which this challenger would come. Along with his own trial, there had been a tournament held in an adjacent arena a few hours earlier; the champion of that was promised a large sum of gold, along with a chance to duel the prince and make a name for themselves. This was the one contestant not previously tested by his retainers, and the tournament had been open to Nohrians of all backgrounds and statures, so he truly did not know what to expect.

“The man calls himself Laslow; a mercenary of rural Nohr.”

A common name, a common background – how he managed to work his way up this far was a mystery to Xander. Out from the tunnel stepped a lone man, unaccompanied by guards; he was of average height and build, sporting a head of cloudy gray hair and wearing a standard Nohrian swordsman’s outfit. His head tilted back and forth as he observed the crowd surrounding the ring, and the prince could’ve sword his cheeks were red.

“Quite the audience you’ve brought in over here, eh…?” muttered the challenger under his breath.

The herald finished his announcements, which became background noise once the two fighters drew their swords and the cheers started up again. Xander sized the unremarkable man up; he wielded a simple, curved blade, with a small shield, which obviously meant he relied on speed less than power. But even then, there was nothing outstanding about his appearance. Had the other contestants of the Common Tournament been that mediocre?

 _Whatever the case, it means nothing,_ thought the prince, tightening his jaw. _All that matters is that I become a symbol of Nohr’s strength… so I can’t go easy on this man._

Laslow still had not assumed a fighting stance. He tossed his sword up with one hand before catching it again, and ran the other through his messy hair.

“You seem calm, challenger,” Xander tried, raising Siegfried out towards the mercenary. The glow emanating from its blade painted streaks of crimson and magenta across his armor.

"Well,” the swordsman glanced his way, a confident smile replacing the shyness on his features. “I’ve faced my fair share of royals with fancy swords, so I at least have the benefit of not being intimidated in that regard.”

 _A quip?_ The prince scowled. Siegfried’s intricate blade now felt almost too extraordinary in his grip, when facing off with this common-looking man. “Enough of this!”

Xander called his horse into a gallop, crossing the arena in mere seconds and drawing back Siegfried for a powerful slash. In those few seconds Laslow’s entire demeanor changed; his knees bent and locked into place, sword raising, teeth gritting in preparation. Then, just as the armored monster of a horse was upon him, the mercenary dove in front of it – earning a collective gasp from the spectators above – and rolled to the other side, Xander’s left, where he then rose his blade and sliced at the inside of the prince’s arm not protected by his shield.

Panic seized the mounted man almost immediately as Siegfried slid through empty air. His eyes darted to his left upon feeling the prick of pain in his bicep, just in time to watch Laslow twist and direct another blow at his leg. Hissing, Xander lowered his shield to block the blow, but not quick enough; it diverted the curved edge from his thigh, yes, but caused the blade to instead slide into the exposed leg of his horse.

The stallion whinnied in pain, rearing back just slightly. Xander grasped for the reins again, but doing so gave the crafty mercenary below him another opportunity to be troublesome; he parried a blow from Siegfried, then grabbed a hold of the saddle, shoved a boot between two plates of the horse’s armor, and heaved himself upwards. The prince turned in utter shock just in time to watch the shining indigo face of Laslow’s shield come hurtling towards his face. Quickly, he raised his left arm and blocked the attack with his own lion-crested shield, but the impact was stronger than he had anticipated and Xander lost his balance completely, twisting and sliding off the other side of his mount.

The impact summoned up a cloud of dust and Xander coughed, waving furiously to clear it. He’d just barely managed to save his ankle from twisting within the saddle, but now he was separated from the horse and disoriented. Quickly – as the man didn’t doubt that this challenger would hesitate to kick him while he was down – Xander pulled himself to his feet again.

Laslow now stood between the paladin and his disoriented mount, with just the slightest curve to his lips. Xander reassumed his offensive stance, earning a tip of the head from the mercenary, and, growling, he resumed the duel.

Blow after blow, Laslow parried with that paper-thin blade of his, somehow able to shrug off the immense weight and mass of Siegfried without so much as loosening his grip on his own sword. It was an incredible technique. Xander felt as if he were cutting through air. Raw power aside, the man’s technique was also disarmingly good. He jumped back and forth from either foot in his game of dodging, using his shield now and then only when the weight was too much for his sword alone to bear, never seeming to tire. When Xander switched to a style involving more jabs than slashes, Laslow adjusted, dancing around his blade – landing a hit on him in this stance was like trying to stick a thread through a needle. In his expectations for the match to end quickly, and his own pride keeping him from accepting healing beforehand, the prince was tiring rapidly, sweat causing his bangs to stick to his face. And as he slowed, the mercenary picked up speed, zipping back and forth with his letter-opener of a sword, to and from his line of sight, landing blow after blow on Xander from blind spots, and he was not truly aware of how many hits he was letting by until he noticed the blood seeping from a number of spots on his armor.

The prince’s body heaved in an attempt to catch his breath, and he now held Siegfried with both hands, glaring his opponent down. In any other environment, facing an opponent as unpredictable as this might’ve been fruitful, even fun, but here… in such a setting, it was unacceptable. He could not lose. Xander’s eyes scanned the arena for his horse, finding that it was much too far away to reach now (had Laslow been purposefully guiding him away from it?).

But he still had something up his sleeve.

-*-

Laslow was about to offer up another taunt when Siegfried’s blade suddenly surged with red light. Hazel eyes went wide as the prince brought the weapon up over his head; he was still a good distance away, was he planning on throwing it? But the motion never came, yet the pain did all too suddenly. A cry, of both surprise and pain, escaped the swordsman as he stumbled backwards. Almost too fast to even pick up on, a dagger of that red energy had shot from Siegfried into his shoulder, and by the looks of it Prince Xander was readying another.

Sweat dripping from his brow, the mercenary dove out of the way and hurried towards another one of the paladin’s blind spots, trailed closely by those deadly crimson beams. He’d have to think of something, _something…_

Xander, meanwhile, was following his opponent’s movements and intensified his attack. Having caught his breath, the paladin could now wield the blade in one hand again, and swiped it in a downwards arc so that it pointed out in front of him. _You can’t escape now._

Laslow was assaulted by a wave of fear at the predatory glare that had come over the prince’s face. As if he was going in for the kill. Sure, the otherworldly mercenary thought, Falchion had been a legendary weapon, but… it didn’t shoot dark magic, damn it. He tripped in another attempt to dodge, inhaling a mouthful of dirt in the process, and brought his shield up just in time to block a death-ray he could’ve sworn was aimed at his head.

Briefly, a memory flashed through his mind…

-*-

 _“The younger prince, Leo, is a magic user, like me,” said Owain with a smirk, and Inigo opened his mouth to object before deciding it was futile._ Yes, he’s Odin now, no longer a swordsman. _“I’ll likely have good fortune in swaying him.”_

_“…Right,” replied Inigo, scratching his chin. “Well, what about you, Selena?”_

_Severa’s arms were crossed, and she had that look on her face that told you she had her mind set on something. “I’m gonna go for Princess Camilla, no question. I’m not getting stuck babysitting some kid, and that Xander guy seems like an armful. Besides, he already has retainers, right?”_

_Inigo frowned, leaning his elbows onto the shoddy table they sat at. The tavern they’d found was loud enough at this hour of the night that their conversation would be well-covered. “Then that leaves the youngest princess to me…?”_

_“Hey, don’t get any ideas, you,” snapped the red-haired girl, pointing an accusing finger at her friend._

_The accused boy chuckled. “Now, now, just because I’m popular with the ladies it doesn’t mean I go around wooing them fresh out of the crib.”_

_“Hmm… It may be some time before she is assigned retainers though, yes?” Owain sat with his usual perfect posture, arms crossed across his now exposed chest. “Mayhaps the crown prince could take on a third.”_

_Laslow couldn’t help but grimace at the thought of working for someone who had the potential to be as overbearing and strict as Lucina. The three of them were well aware of the stresses that came with inheriting a kingdom, and frankly, none of them wanted anything to do with that. They were here for Princess Corrin, to ensure her safety and her well-being, not therapy, or, as Severa had said, babysitting. Truthfully, Inigo was raring to return home, and that desire was perhaps putting a damper on his mood and patience, but the fact remained that in order to accomplish their task, they had to get in with the Nohrian royalty._

_"Well, I’ll work my way up the ladder and see where things are a year from now,” he managed, attention drifting away from the conversation as a woman in a particularly low-scooping dress sauntered across the floor. Sure, he was away from home and his loved ones, but the beautiful women sure did help numb the pain…_

_“Hey, airhead, we’re over here,” Severa landed a solid punch on the boy’s shoulder. “Geez, are you stupid or what? I don’t know why Anankos picked you to come with us…”_

_-*-_

_So then, this is the man I could end up serving,_ thought Laslow, shaking his head as if the motion would halt the buzzing pain. _It seems I underestimated just how brutal he is._

“Do you yield?” came the prince’s voice, loud and infallible, worsening the mercenary’s headache. For just a moment he halted his attack, though Siegfried was still pointed out and shimmering in that wicked red light.

 _As if…!_ thought Laslow, too winded to choke out the words. In one swift motion he reached his left arm around his right side and drew a throwing axe, chucking it at the prince just as the sword exploded with magic again. With a loud _click_ , it embedded itself in Xander’s side, causing the man to falter and topple down to one knee. But the mercenary had not been fast enough to defend himself in the process, and the brunt of Siegfried’s magic hit his shoulder in the same spot the first had, sending searing-hot pain down his arm. Laslow clutched the wound with his good hand; though there was no puncture in the shirt he wore, just by touch it was obvious that there was severe bruising. His right, trembling uncontrollably, released the handle of his sword, and the weapon fell to his feet.

When the pain wracking the right half of Laslow’s body finally lifted enough for him to focus on his surroundings once more, he found Prince Xander upon him, one hand clutching his side where the axe had done its job, the other shoving Siegfried’s wicked curves up dangerously close to his opponent’s chin. “I’ll ask you again, _Laslow_ ,” he muttered, and the mercenary could’ve sworn his neck started to hurt this close to the blade, “do you yield?”

Laslow smirked, but disappointment was clear in his hazel eyes. His brow twitched as he struggled to bear the pain. “I yield,” he scoffed.

-*-

Xander turned from the man and sheathed Siegfried as a deafening roar came from above. By the Gods, where had they picked up this one? Perhaps he was trained in Hoshidan swordfighting, but even then his technique was much too open and swift to match any style he’d read about the eastern nation using. The fact alone that he’d managed to dismount the paladin was almost concerning – Xander was supposed to be Nohr’s strongest, unwavering, unbeatable. But the spectators had apparently loved the fight. _I suppose, as long as I won,_ thought the prince, casting his gaze upwards again, past the crowd, the many pairs of eyes still a little unnerving to him. Father’s face was turned away; he was whispering to someone, it seemed… Xander recognized the cloaked, lopsided recipient of Garon’s words as Iago, and unconsciously his hand tightened into a fist. _After all of this, he’s still…_

Sighing, the boy diverted his attention to the sky, as gray and dismal as his father’s own face had become. _Hmm… I wasn’t aware there were wyvern-mounted guards here, as well,_ Xander mused, noticing the huge, draconic silhouettes that glided above the arena. _It seems a bit excessive on Father’s part. Is he expecting sabotage by Hoshido…?_ The fact that Xander’s personal arena had been closed off only to high-standing nobles, too, was curious. Lowering his gaze, the prince reached his horse and assessed it for any wounds.

Just as he was preparing to remount, a troubadour, alongside what appeared to be a _very_ disheveled stable boy rushed forth. The healer began a spell immediately for his axe wound, but Xander’s attention remained on the second figure. The boney child was grasping for the stallion’s reins, while trying to juggle some strange hunk of metal beneath his arm.

“What is that?” questioned Xander without thinking as the troubadour by his side finished her spell.

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin. His face was round and pale as he turned to the paladin. “A-a helmet, Prince Xander. You’ll n-need this, for the next battle, they said…” He held out both hands, his arms shaking, and Xander peered down at the object. It wasn’t unlike the standard helmet paladins wore, though its design was altered so that it was black and curved, trimmed in gold to match his set of armor, with a visor that slid down over the face. The comb, too, was made to look like that of a dragon’s wing.

 _A specially-crafted helmet…? Father typically does not have us wear these…_ The prince took it into his hands, weighing it, turning it around. _He said I would need this for my next challenge? I can’t imagine why…_ “Wait a second, you-“ the stable boy, who’d now collected the reins of Xander’s horse, spun around again. “’Next battle’? Explain this. The champion of the tournament should have been the last…”

But Xander was interrupted by the blaring of a trumpet. All at once the chattering from above died down, and a voice rang out that was distinctly not that of the herald boy.

“My citizens, remain in your seats and I will introduce the last act of today’s festivities.” King Garon’s voice was booming, setting everyone on edge, even Laslow who’d been slumped against the arena wall as a healer attended to his shoulder. “For years the scheming Hoshidans have launched pathetic, underhanded attacks on Nohr from the inside, picking away at my valued colleagues and officials, in an attempt to weaken our glorious country.”

Boos erupted from the crowd. Xander scowled, staring up at his father who, through the grated bars of the arena, seemed so far away.

“Additionally they have set up a magical barrier barring any counterattack to be made on their lands. This has given them time – time to rebuild their army, time to bolster their defenses, time to ready a full invasion on Nohr.”

The sea of nobles went quiet again, leaving thick tension in the autumn air. In this silence a gust of wind cut across the plain, blowing right through Xander’s armor and delivering a chill that reminded him that winter would soon set in. Another four months of hell, four months of draining the few resources Nohr had left. It was as if the wind itself had been testament to the truth in Garon’s words.

“But it is meaningless… because I have acquired a means to conquer Hoshido, and with time I will have the power to crush any attack made on Nohr. Soon, I will have the barrier destroyed, and thereafter the might of the Nohrian army will burn across Hoshido, ravaging any defense forces they might have, whether they number ten thousand, or one hundred-thousand.”

Xander gulped, his brow knitting. Was he talking about the Faceless? It was true that the Faceless were strong, but they were so unreliable, and used a huge amount of resources to little avail… Father had certainly given speeches of encouragement regarding them, but not with this much enthusiasm. His words were resolute, each syllable hammering against one’s ears. King Garon hadn’t spoken like this in years, if ever.

“But do not let my words alone sway you. _Observe_.”

Punctuating Garon’s speech was the rattling of the arena gate as one of the tunnels opened. Every gaze turned to that spot, the source of the noise, as if they’d all been hypnotized. The swirling beginnings of dread tickled Xander’s stomach. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that the stable boy had already retreated, along with his mount; Laslow and his healer, too, were nowhere to be found. Even the guards were gone. Was he to fight once more without his horse? Everything was happening too fast for him to process – _why_ hadn’t he been told about all of this in advance…?

A deafening roar brought Xander’s thoughts to a halt, and he felt his blood run cold.

 


	11. Clash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Xander finds himself face to face with the monster from his childhood nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a bunch for the comments. Sorry if I haven't gotten around to them all yet!

_From that time… it can’t be…_

Xander stood frozen in place as light poured onto the creature emerging from the tunnel. Long, silver limbs, dappled with old bloodstains; a writhing body, webbed with chains that clanked noisily against each other; a faceless head, with a mess of grotesque horns sprouting out of it… Undoubtedly it was the same monster from that time, and the prince felt as if he was a boy again, cowering in fear, defenseless, and alone in the depths of his own home. His limbs locked up, and he could feel the warmth draining from his face. _What in the world…_

Alongside the dragon were seven guards, all tugging vigorously on their own sets of chains, trying to keep the beast in place. The largest chain was kept by a wyvern rider; on one end was an iron harness clamping around the monster’s midsection, and on the other, the links connected to a contraption around the wyvern’s own body so that it could tug back if need be and limit movement, not unlike a dog’s leash. The pack paused once they had entered the arena and awaited orders from King Garon as calmly as they could, while the rabid dragon continued to squirm and shake like an unearthed worm.

Xander looked wide-eyed to his father for answers, but the distant man’s gaze did not reach him. “Now… Behold! A rare species of dragon, wild and untame unlike the wyverns, though much more intelligent, much like the legends of old told. Here, we shall test its strength against my son, Nohr’s most powerful knight.”

Before the prince could open his mouth to object – everything was happening so damn fast! – the crowd broke into an uproar of accord. Their initial fear upon seeing the otherworldly beast had apparently dissipated, replaced by excitement that bordered on mania. The noise only seemed to upset the dragon further; it tossed its neck to the right, nearly knocking one of the guards off his feet.

“L-let the battle commence!” came the herald’s yelp again.

Garon’s attention fell on his son’s for a split second before the boy glanced away, ducking his head in shame. He’d come to know that look of his father’s so well; the lowered brow, narrowed eyes, as if questioning the crown prince why he was not simply following orders, daring him to disobey his king. Xander was unable to rid himself of his distraught expression, though, so he was forced himself to focus instead on this nightmarish creature before him.

By now the guards were backing off; they did so in pairs, with the front two hurrying back into the tunnel first, then the middle two, and finally the guards behind the monster. Only the wyvern rider remained, then, guiding her mount up to the grate surrounding the arena to maintain distance. This gave the dragon the freedom to move nearly throughout the entire arena, as the chain could extend, and with the lack of restraints it wasted no time in doing so.

Trying desperately to put both the clamoring crowd above and the fears of his childhood into the back of his mind, Xander slid the helmet over his head and gripped Siegfried with two hands, rising into a shoddy defensive stance. His wrists were quaking beneath his gauntlets, and he prayed it didn’t show. _You’re not a child anymore. There’s no reason to fear, damn it!_ Move!

-*-

 _Your heart is beating faster than it seems it ever has in your life. You struggle, because between the unfamiliar sounds, scents, colors, and faces, panic has assaulted you, as hot and piercing as an arrow of fire. Your head is burning; attempting to shake it brings a tight pain around your neck and, in turn, the rest of your body, as if you’re a fish tangled up in a line. It hurts. It_ hurts.

_Then there is light; an immeasurable amount, enough to make you flinch, and again that movement brings the pain back anew. You’re assaulted by voices, jeers, everything is so unfamiliar… and you’re urged further into this mess against your own will._

_You’re not quite in control of yourself. The involuntary things – flinching, crying out in pain, those are you. But there’s something else in control, making you distinctly_ not _you. You don’t think to speak, or to obey the urging of the chains binding you, you don’t think at all. You lash out at the source of the pain and try to escape, to no avail. The amounting panic only weakens your control even more._

 _Then there’s one voice that stands out. It’s booming and grating on the ears, but that is not what makes you freeze; it’s the familiarity. You_ know _this voice; this voice has haunted you for years. Whose is it…? The face of that man appears in your head, the man with the face of a skeleton and the grin of a wolf, but it’s impossible to find him in the sea of bodies that’s curving up around you. It sets you into more of a frenzy, and, as if at last your jailors understood your thoughts, they begin lightening their hold on you until all that remains are the metal bars across your chest. You can’t think; everything has become too much of a red haze for that._

 _There’s a figure standing across from you, rather close by, and it draws your attention. He’s a mass of darkness in this blinding light, and the weapon in his hand is surging with power. You’re drawn to it like a moth to light. You amble forwards, shaking your wings free of the chains that were draped over them, and he holds his ground. Everything about him reeks of_ that _man,_ those _people._

_You don’t think; it’s too much trouble, too much to bear. So you attack._

-*-

The four Nohrian royals were at the edge of their seats. Leo chomped down on his lip; Camilla was leaned over, tense, hands folded in her lap; Elise clung onto her older sister’s arm, visibly trembling; Azura sat with her back straightened, barely moving at all – she could have been a corpse. In contrast to the children, King Garon was leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the scarlet cushions of the arms. Beside him, Iago watched the conflict unfold with just the slightest tip to his lips.

The battle had begun explosively, with the dragon leaping right at Xander. He’d barely managed to block its snapping jaws with his shield, and it had taken three more ravenous lunges from his opponent to get the prince to fight back. But even then, compared to his last match his movements were sloppy. That much was obvious to any onlooker experienced in swordplay. The prince rose either Siegfried or his shield to deflect each of the beast’s oncoming attacks just in the nick of time, with a loud _clank_ penetrating the tense air each time the dragon’s hide whipped against the Nohrian steel. His siblings winced at each blow, feeling that his sword or shield could shatter at any moment.

All the while, Xander was being pushed back, which wouldn’t have been as bad a situation had he still had his mount. But undoubtedly, the horse would’ve been spooked at the sight of the dragon and tossed its rider into the air immediately, as aside from its monstrous appearance, the cries that the dragon let forth were ear-grating. Advantageous, he figured, had this been a battlefield… _Father wasn’t lying when he spoke of this thing’s potential in the war…_

Xander strafed to the left in an effort to maneuver around the dragon’s side, but it seemed to read his plan and whipped out its tail in response. In the first direct hit of the match, it lashed against Xander’s torso just beneath his shield arm and sent him plowing into the dirt. A cloud of dust puffed up around the prince and he began hacking in an attempt to regain air.

Hissing, the beast lunged in for another attack, this time with its two front claws. Leo and Elise both yelped in protest, the latter burying her face into the folds of Camilla’s dress.

“N-no more, Camilla! He’s gonna die!”

“Shhh,” urged the eldest princess, moving her arm around Elise’s back but not taking her eyes off of the conflict below. “It’s fine, Elise… You need to stay strong. Xander will be fine.”

“You say that, Sister…” Leo muttered beneath his breath, “b-but your voice is shaking…”

Long, black talons grasped at the winded paladin’s chestplate and began to tug and slash at it as if trying to crack open an egg. Amidst his wheezing Xander noticed the texture of the skin; leathery and shiny, much unlike the dragon’s thicker silver hide. Perhaps…

Grunting, he raised Siegfried and slashed out blindly at the claws attempting to pry his armor open. Blade met with flesh, and, to the prince’s surprise, sunk into the dark hide just above the dragon’s left talon. Immediately the beast withdrew, roaring and writhing upon three legs, and Xander took the opportunity to stagger back to his feet. His armor was fine, if not dented, but there was another pain of which he could not pinpoint the source… Ignoring it, the prince pushed himself forwards, one foot after another, planning to launch a counterattack on the beast while it was distracted.

 _I can’t falter. I can never falter,_ he thought, mouth a thin line, shadowed by the black visor that covered nearly his entire face. _Perhaps this is Father’s test for me, to truly see if I’m the most powerful warrior in Nohr…_ Grunting, Xander rounded the side of the dragon and swiped Siegfried against its hide, just below the wing. Yes, now that he had a closer look, he could identify a number of weak points; below the dragon was one of them, and on the inside of its neck, along with all four feet. There, that weaker, leathery skin was exposed. If he could land enough hits there, the dragon would likely fatigue, and at that point Father would call for the match to end, not wanting his prize to be harmed beyond repair.

Now that the prince was able to see that this nightmare from his childhood wasn’t as infallible as he had thought, he felt his confidence returning, hot energy revitalizing his chilled muscles. Most of the dragon’s attacks came from its head and those sharp jaws; if he could handle just that, he could best this opponent the same way he had taken down the mercenary Laslow.

_No matter what is in Nohr’s way, I have to be able to overcome it. That’s how it’s always been. I will not fail you, Father._

-*-

The otherworldly mercenary himself had been following his escort through the busy underground passageways back to the stables when he passed a throng of injured guards. Three healers were in tow, buzzing around them, their hands flashing with magic. _They’re definitely not contenders,_ thought Laslow as he observed them under the flickering torchlight, his steps slowing. _So how’d they…_

As if on cue, his escort, one of the burly elite guards, paused and turned to the group. “Some loser rough you lot up?”

One of the less-damaged warriors glanced their way, and Laslow was taken aback at the fear in his eyes. “No,” the man muttered, “no… I-it’s something else… that dragon…” His mouth hung open as if he planned on saying more, but then he bit his tongue and tilted his head away. “I-it’s nothing.”

But Laslow was suspicious now. _Dragon?_ Gray eyes narrowed accusingly as he peered back down the dark passageway they’d come from. _In the arena? Does this have to do with… what King Garon was speaking of?_ He shifted his weight onto his other leg.

“Well, whatever,” said the elite guard with a huge shrug. “C’mon, you, let’s get goin’…”

But when the he turned around, he found that the mercenary was gone.

-*-

Laslow attempted to move as fast as a man crippled by dark magic could. Healing spells could only do so much, after all, especially with that damn legendary sword’s magic that’d messed up his shoulder. The rest would heal with time, they’d told him.

Perhaps leaving a royal escort in a place as tight on the law as Nohr was a bad idea, in retrospect, thought the swordsman as he passed another group of guards, tipping his head and giving a quick salute before hurrying on. But he had to know… if this had anything to do with Corrin, he had to know. The three had spent more than enough time in this world already, to very little avail when it came to their ultimate goal of ensuring Anankos’s daughter’s safety. Any chance he had, any lead that might provide more information, he had to take. And at an event as exclusive as this, closed off only to trusted Nohrian nobles, complete with an attendance list in case anyone were to talk… Laslow became more anxious by the second. _Am I a fool, or is this all starting to make sense…?_

As the man neared the arena the clamor of the crowd grew louder, along with another new and hauntingly familiar noise; the roars of a dragon. Wyverns and dragons, for all their similarities, had cries as different as a wolf and a bear might. And Laslow – or Inigo, perhaps – was acquainted all too well with the cries of dragons. For a brief moment he stopped, leaning against the tunnel wall, his chest heaving with each breath. Images from a different time, in a different world, threatened to resurface in his mind. With a groan, Laslow pushed them back and trudged on forwards towards the gray light in the distance. _No. This is a different place. Grima… doesn’t exist here. Anankos is the closest thing to him there is, and even then he said he was trapped in Valla…_

By the time Laslow reached the gate and his eyes adjusted to the midday light, the shrieks had become almost deafening. _What in the world…_

-*-

_One…_

A claw dripping with black blood crashed into Xander’s shield, sending him staggering backwards. He could not see the face of the object, but he was certain the beautiful black finish and gold gilding were now coated in dents and silver gashes.

_Two…_

The other talon came in on his right, as fast as lightning, and in a motion that had almost become automatic for him Xander rose his arm and deflected it with Siegfried. The muscles in both had passed the point of pain and were now going completely numb – not a good sign, he told himself. _I have to finish this swiftly…_

_Three._

Next were those jaws. The dragon was as lithe and swift as it was hyperaware of its surroundings, and even though Xander had been able to memorize the pattern in which it attacked – left claw, right claw, head – he had the feeling it, too, was predicting where he might attack, and covering those spots accordingly with either wing or tail. But the jaws were the hardest to dodge. If Xander simply tried to deflect them with his shield, the dragon could clamp its mouth around his entire forearm and yank the object – or the entire limb, maybe – right off. Siegfried, too, was an option, but his sword arm felt unbelievably heavy, and the prince did not trust himself to raise the blade in time to make an effective counterattack. Furthermore, something strange had been happening throughout the duration of the battle.

Siegfried had always felt light in his grip, the perfect weight, the perfect length, an extension of himself. Xander had never had trouble aiming his attacks, cutting down his foes on the battlefield as if he was a knight with twice the years of experience, and never after a battle had his arm been in pain – sore, maybe, but there was never pain without an accompanying injury. Yet now, in the midst of this battle, every muscle in his arm felt as if the blood running through it had turned to hot magma. It couldn’t simply be fatigue from the previous matches, not with how hard he had been pushing himself at training during the days preceding the tournament. What, then…?

As the dragon reared its head back and widened its jaws, Xander saw his opportunity; its legs were still, parted just slightly, and its attention diverted. With a huff, the paladin dove forwards, raising Siegfried at the same time so that the blade pointed out over his shoulder.

The attack was double-edged; instantly the prince was greeted with a mouthful of dirt, kicked up beneath the visor of his helmet, and now he laid on his stomach surrounded by four of the monster’s wicked claws. As he slid forwards, though, there came a wicked tearing noise from above him; the sound of Siegfried slicing open the dragon’s underbelly. Xander shifted his grip to pull the blade down further; its magical aura seemed to have weakened ever since he’d dealt the first blow against this dragon, and by now it was nearly nonexistent, leaving only the blade itself, which had a much harder time cutting through the dragon’s thick hide. It was an almost sickening feeling, having to wrench the sacred swrod from its flesh, akin to trying to cut a chunk of steak with a simple buttering knife. But cut Siegfried had; along his back, the prince felt clumps of hot blood sinking into his armor. He grinded his teeth in disgust.

Above him the dragon let out another shriek, much longer than the rest, full of agony. Xander tensed as it began to waver back and forth, and, not wanting to be crushed, crawled the rest of the way out from beneath its belly.

When he stood, back to the dragon, facing the crowd, his gaze landed on his father again. But there was not a hint of pride to be found – just intense focus, and perhaps some amusement that had barely parted his lips. Xander could only stare at the man, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

He didn’t hear the dragon rising behind him until it was too late.

Teeth latched around Xander’s right shoulder, catching beneath the plates of his armor, and with a single twist of the monster’s neck the prince was tossed against the wall of the arena like a ragdoll. His helmet, thrown off by the blow, went rolling out of reach. The air rushed from his lungs so suddenly that the prince couldn’t even cough, and in an instant the monster was towering over him. Blood now painted most of its chest and neck, along with its jaw, the prince noticed – was that _his_ blood? Gradually, a dull pain found its way to his side as he realized the teeth had punctured his skin.

His expression blank, Xander sized up the dragon before him, and in this moment it truly did look like the thing that hunted him in his dreams for so many months after that incident. Dragons were revered in Nohr, he remembered. Worshipped, even. The Dusk Dragon was the icon of Nohr. That was part of the reason why he had never spoken of that incident again, why he’d had to repress his fears, to act as if he’d had a full night of sleep when he showed up to his lessons each morning, why it had taken a year to reacquaint himself with the wyverns used in Nohr’s army. How pathetic was it, for the crown prince of Nohr to be haunted by images of an icon that was supposed to be worshipped? Why, even now, was he so revolted at the idea of Nohr enlisting something like _this_ into its army? Why was he even having thoughts that disagreed with his father’s intentions?

Gods, his arm stung. As the dragon grew closer, the prince raised Siegfried in a feeble attempt at a defense, but found that it only twitched in response. It was almost like the sword itself was repulsed at the thought of harming this thing. But if he was going to die, he had to do so with honor; the prince of Nohr could not simply set his sword down and accept death. Panting now, Xander urged his arm up again, and reluctantly, it obeyed.

 _Death, then…_ There came another roar, and flecks of blood found the paladin’s face as his opponent careened forwards. That faceless head lunged at him and met with Siegfried’s sullied blade once more. Jaws clamped around it, tugging ferociously left and right like a dog would a toy, while Xander brought a second hand up to Siegfried’s hilt, refusing to let this thing tear the sword that held so many dear and prideful memories from his grip. Immediately upon contact, the same numbness shot up Xander’s left arm. With all of his willpower, he summoned up Siegfried’s magic again, against the sword’s will, and the crimson glow returned; it was faint, but Xander was sure it was there, and he wasn’t just hallucinating.

Following this was a light hissing; the prince recognized it as the dragon’s flesh being burnt away by the magic. Yet still, it flailed its head back and forth in an attempt to toss the offending object aside. Xander could feel the sword’s screaming anger reaching his head and legs now, and knew that it would be over soon; he would be completely paralyzed, and Siegfried would have its way, allowing this dragon to live for whatever reason. And then he might die, or his father might call for the match to end; but losing was such a dishonor to Xander that it might’ve been better to die either way. He glared at the dragon through disheveled bangs, tasting blood in his mouth. _Wretched beast… I’ll bring you with me. I won’t let you… h-harm my family… or Nohr…_

-*-

Leo had stood up, and now had his hands clenched around the pole at the edge of the stands, knuckles whitening beneath his gloves. “Why…? Why isn’t he fighting back? What’s wrong with him!?”

Still in her seat, Camilla hugged Elise closer.

“Sis… Why doesn’t Father call it off?” murmured Elise, taking a brief glimpse back at the action before burying her face further into the eldest princess’s shoulder.

Still, the lavender-haired girl said nothing, but she found herself wondering why Xander was so hesitant nonetheless. It was not like him. He never hesitated, not anymore; not when he was ordered to execute thieves with the lowliest of crimes, not when he was told to quash rebellions held by peasants and farmers, and certainly not when he sparred against wyvern riders. Something just didn’t add up, she was sure of it. This was not fatigue; something else was wrong.

To Camilla’s left, Azura slowly got to her feet. She had been silent ever since that strange dragon was dragged out. Step by step, she moved to the ledge where Leo stood, overlooking a portion of the crowd and the arena beyond. Xander was cornered, his defenses weakening with each lunch of the dragon’s head; but what the others did not see, and Azura did, was the chain restraining the dragon, fully taut now that it was on the opposite end of the arena, constricting around its midsection and limiting its breath. Siegfried’s magic, too, was leaving its mark on the spots where Xander had dealt blows earlier. If things went on much longer, it was possible the both of them would die. She couldn’t stand by any longer and watch this unfold. Twitching her head to the right so as to glance back at King Garon, Azura found that he was completely entranced with the performance, leaning forward in his seat, a predatory twinkle in his eyes.

More noise erupted from below as the dragon grabbed a hold of Siegfried and began swinging its neck around in an effort to toss it aside. The crowd quieted in anticipation. Inside Azura, something snapped, and she rushed forwards, diving off the stand reserved for the royals and weaving through the crowd towards the arena.

One hand flew to her amulet as she reached the grated edge, ignoring the gasps and grunts coming from the spectators around her. Without hesitating, then, she began to sing, hoping to the Gods that she was not too late, warm tears dribbling down her cheeks.

“ _You are the ocean’s gray waves…”_

 _Lost in Thoughts_ , always, had been a comforting piece to sing; a rhythm that Azura could easily fall into no matter how much time passed. It was an immortal song, both in Vallite history and within her own life. The notes seemed to bend time itself, resurfacing old memories of her mother teaching Azura the words and dynamics. _Lost in Thoughts_ was not, particularly, a sad piece, at least not in Azura’s interpretation, but perhaps she made it sound this way because of how emotional she became when confronted with these memories. Arete’s voice had been so strong and yet flexible, able to deepen to reach the lowest notes or soften at the perfect time. Azura’s own singing, the girl found, was pathetically weak in comparison. But despite this, the song still brought her comfort, even in a situation as dire and unsettling as what she was faced with currently.

_“Destined to seek… Life beyond the shore…”_

On the battlefield, the dragon began to falter as Azura’s song reached Corrin’s mind and sought to soothe it. She crumpled away from the prince and lowered her head towards the dirt, roars softening into low growls. Through her haze, Azura could tell it was particularly bad this time; after all, for all she knew, the Hoshidan princess hadn’t been herself for years. _Corrin… How could I abandon you like this? How could I allow it to get this bad…?_

_“Yet the waters ever-“_

“ _Foolish_ girl!”

An arm clamped around Azura’s midsection, forcing the air from her lungs and tugging her off of her feet. Iago. She had failed to notice his presence, how he rushed off the stands in a rippling blur of black and gold satin after Azura as soon as he saw her leave, how he of all people would have been the first to know what she intended on doing.

“No!” Azura struggled in his grip, kicking and squirming, as the light from her amulet faded away. “ _No_! You can’t do this! You can’t do this to her!” Though her vision was distorted by tears, the princess could make out the eyes of the surrounding spectators watching her with scrutiny, saw the pale faces of her Nohrian siblings downcast in concern.

“ _Silence!”_ The sorcerer’s free hand clamped around Azura’s one flailing arm. His fingers were cold as ice even in the brisk air, and certainly his grip would leave bruises marring her skin. But that didn’t matter, thought the princess. _Corrin…_

 _“…change, flowing like t…_ Ah…! _Time…”_ The pendant flickered back to life as Azura raised her voice, trying desperately to get the rest of the song out, hoping the magic would reach Corrin despite the choppy and off-key words.

 _“You!”_ Iago, his frustration reaching boiling point, tossed the princess against the hard cobblestone stairs, ignoring the cry of pain she made as her arm landed the wrong way, caught beneath her hip and the edge of a step. His gaze caught on the pendant glowing blue from her neck, and, as though he were plucking an apple from a tree, the sorcerer reached down and tore the trinket away from Azura.

“No!” cried the princess, reaching up after her mother’s keepsake with her good arm. “No…! That’s my mother’s…!”

“ _Enough!_ ”

Both sorcerer and songstress glanced further up the stairs, where Camilla was marching down, her face a twisted storm of anger, hair waving out behind her in the wind. Behind her was Jakob, who didn’t bother hiding the fact that he was grinding his teeth. One of his hands rested on the knives sitting at his waist, but it was clear he had no intention of aggressing further unless the eldest princess said otherwise.

The four stood there for some time, as a large portion of the crowd watched uneasily, contemplating whether they should move away from the squabble; getting caught in Princess Camilla’s wrath seemed particularly uninviting to many of the nearby spectators, even when the young woman was without her armor or wyvern. But their attention was drawn away again by another wicked roar from the arena, followed by the rustling of chains and the clang of sword against scales as the fight started up again.

“Iago,” came Garon’s grumble from above, “Escort her out immediately. We will discuss this later. Guards, two of you join him; it seems a master sorcerer cannot even restrain a single, weak girl.”

Promptly, two of the King’s men approached, pausing behind Camilla who still barred the way. With a scoff, she stepped aside, but not without casting a venomous glare Iago’s way. Azura was then scooped off of the ground like the yolk of an egg and hauled away.

As the commotion ended, Camilla’s eyes moved to her father, who seemed troubled now that he had broken free of his daze. He shifted in his seat, resting his cheek against a ballet fist, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Enough of this! This battle is purely a display of strength. I won’t have my two most valuable assets killing each other before the war effort has even commenced.” He waved a huge hand and said with the same level of disinterest, “Remove them both from the battlefield.”

Promptly, the wyvern rider holding the restraints on the dragon tugged on her reins. The wyvern maneuvered backwards in response, chirping and hissing as the beast fought back on the other end of the leash. When it was far enough away from Xander, two troubadours, also without their mounts, skittered into the arena and retrieved the unmoving prince.

His last view of the dragon was through that gate, watching as those six guards emerged again to restrain the monster that seemed to have gone completely berserk. Xander found himself wincing as chains were bound around open, bleeding wounds, webbing and tangling between its flailing limbs, constricting its neck until the roars became nothing more than hisses. His head was swimming, and his right arm was completely numb save for his fingers still clamped around Siegfried’s hilt. Eventually, he was turned around a corner and the dim light of the arena left his view completely. In the quiet of the tunnel, the prince realized how fast his heart was beating and how heavy his entire body seemed to have become. As if they were twigs, Xander’s legs gave out beneath him. Commotion erupted around him and he began to fade, finding that he could not stop thinking about how twice, now, Azura had referred to that dragon as ‘ _her’,_ how some of those cries had not sounded as bestial as the others, and the strange shape of its claws, how similar they were to his own hands…

“ _Lord Xander? Lord Xander!”_


	12. Rogues and Pawns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Xander begins carrying out his father's plans; Princess Azura begins forming some of her own.

The morning was as cold as the Nohrians themselves, with autumn’s chill creeping into Azura’s chambers through the stone floor. Krakenburg’s halls were quieter than ever, now that Garon had begun his strict training regime for the army. One would find that even the royal siblings, down to the youngest, Elise, had begun war preparations, as well. The siblings, save for Azura, who had once again become estranged from the family.

“Milady…”

Azura wore a simple black gown, with long, thin sleeves to cover the bruises on her arms – one of which was still healing, in a sling. The teacup in her hand trembled as she placed it back down on the table with her left hand, and dull eyes rose to meet the butler’s. “Jakob.”

He frowned, trying to form words in his head. He hadn’t yet asked about the incident at the coliseum, why Azura had randomly begun to sing, but with the reaction it’d earned her he figured he shouldn’t until the time was right. “What do you plan on doing, today…?”

There was the indiscreet shuffling of plate armor and boots from just outside Azura’s door. The guards were changing shifts, it seemed. Since the incident, they’d sat outside her chambers – her door, even, within earshot – and noted where Azura was heading in the castle that day. The princess was sure that Iago now had a network of magic-oriented guards set up to monitor her, and be sure that she did not snoop any further, or try to escape. She was the only threat to Garon’s master plan of conquering Hoshido – by brainwashing, torturing, and reconditioning Corrin to be his ultimate weapon. A wave of dizzying guilt passed over her mind again, as it always did when she thought about the Hoshidan princess’s condition and how little help she could be.

The footsteps of the guards faded away, and Azura was still silent, staring past Jakob. Then she stood up, all at once, light returning to her eyes. “Leo.”

Jakob rose an eyebrow. “The Prince, Leo…?”

“Yes,” Azura replied, keeping her voice loud and clear. “What are his plans for the day? I’d like to see him, the next time he is available.” She paused, glancing over at Jakob, her expression telling him that there was meaning behind her words. “He is my dearest brother, after all.”

The butler bowed. “As you wish, milady.”

-*-

It was getting to be evening when Jakob finally returned, a platter of hot dinner in his arms. Azura was no longer invited to dine with her family, or anyone really, which left Jakob to retrieve food from the kitchen to bring to his liege, with the help of his companions Felicia and Flora – maids of the actual royal family. Tonight’s meal consisted of roast beef, hot bread rolls, and an assortment of pickled vegetables. He placed the platter on the table, which Azura had long since moved away from; recently she’d taken a liking to gazing out her window, which looked out across the excavated hole Krakenburg sat in. Oranges and yellows brought faint color to her otherwise pale skin.

“Good evening, Lady Azura. Pardon my tardiness…”

“Leo?” Azura said, moving to the table and eyeing the food with a surprising amount of disinterest.

“I’m afraid he’s out at the moment, milady. Training. He’s said to be back in two days.” Jakob’s nose wrinkled all of the sudden, as if he’d ate something terrible.

Azura waited a few seconds, stuffing an enormous bite of bread into her mouth. After she swallowed, she continued, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, milady…” muttered the boy, taking a seat at the table as well and picking at the food (Azura had made it a habit to share with the butler).

“Please,” pressed the princess, chomping into her bread again. “I’m more than happy to listen to your woes, though I can’t promise I can do much about them…”

“Ah, it’s just…” Jakob’s face sunk even more, and he poked a tiny bite of beef into his mouth. “In Prince Leo’s place was his retainer. That thief – Niles.”

“Hmm…” Azura played with her fork. “Yes, he recently picked up a new retainer, right…?” Within another minute – in which Jakob was eyeing her with curiosity, still unable to figure out what Azura’s ulterior motive here was – half of her plate had been cleared. “And he said two day’s time…”

They continued eating in silence. The presence of the guards outside seemed to be looming over the two even through the thick stone wall.

“I wouldn’t mind meeting this retainer, actually,” Azura murmured, her eyes drilling into Jakob’s. The boy looked back, still chewing a mouthful of beets, squinting beneath his thick bangs. “And I’ve been rather bored sitting in here, all day. You wouldn’t mind walking me to Leo’s quarters once we finish, would you…?”

Jakob swallowed his food, realization finally washing over his features. He stood at once, faking a sigh. “If that is what you wish, Lady Azura, I will not complain.”

The princess nodded her head once. “Good.”

-*-

In twenty minute’s time, Azura and her butler departed her chambers, the guards not suspecting a thing. It was a long walk up to the chambers of the royal family, and as usual the Vallite princess earned more than a few suspicious gazes from what few nobles still wandered the halls. Ever since she had begun being monitored, hardly anyone had actually spoken to Azura – the few words she was able to share with her siblings now and then were hardly plentiful enough to be called an actual conversation. Obviously, it was Garon and Iago’s doing, limiting her contact with everyone, isolating her, keeping her out of the know, which was why Jakob had been so offset when she asked to see Leo.

In his absence, Leo’s quarters were dimly lit, with more shadows than there were light. A preferable environment for a thief, thought Azura, and Jakob unhooked his arm from her good one as their pace slowed. The two came upon a well-furnished lounge, laden with bookshelves; dark violet carpeting rose from the first level, up a wide staircase to a higher level, where two hallways then stretched out to the left and right. In the center of the second floor, slouched over in a chair, long leather boots propped up on a table, and book in hand, sat a man – a boy, really – unknown to Azura. He had stark white hair, contrasting with his dark skin and attire.

Jakob’s expression told the princess that this was Leo’s retainer, Niles. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

Jolting the both of them, a deeper voice filled the room: “Who could you be…?” It was punctuated by the _clap_ as the man shut the heavy book in his grasp. Azura kept herself calm as he set the object on the table before him, and then rose to his feet, descending the stairs without a sound.

Closer up, and under the flickering light of the chandelier above them, Azura now identified that the shadow covering his right eye was _not_ a shadow, but an eyepatch. Her brow flicked as she sized up this strange man. Jakob, who’d been standing protectively before her, backed off a step or two as he realized he truly had no idea what his liege was here for.

“You are Prince Leo’s newest retainer?” Azura pressed, carefully. “Niles.”

The bowman rolled his head to the side. “That’s me… And you’re the little princess I’ve heard _so_ much about.”

Already, it was obvious that there was no trust to be offered between the two. But nonetheless, Azura continued. “I’ve heard whispers that you’re a skilled thief.”

Niles sobered. His one eye narrowed, lips tightening into a half-frown. “If I was that good, I wouldn’t be here right now, would I?”

Azura dropped her gaze to the ground, strands of blue hair falling into her face. It was too unnerving to maintain eye contact with this boy. If she weakened any more, she feared she would lose her courage to say what she truly came here to say. With that thought, and in a shaky voice, the princess forced out the question: “I’m looking for a dragonstone.  You’re a thief. Do you have any idea where one might be found in Windmire?” The last part of the question was unmentioned, but present: _And could you retrieve it for me?_

Niles furrowed his brow as he processed her words. His arms crossed across his chest, and a flurry of different emotions moved across his dark complexion. At her side, Jakob attempted to play it cool, as if he’d been aware of his liege’s intentions this entire time.

“…A dragonstone…” The bowman circled over to Azura’s right. He stood at least a head taller than her, though he couldn’t have been too much older. “A strange request. But I suppose it’s not all that weird, coming from someone like Princess Azura…” There was a long pause, then, as Niles stroked his chin.

“…Well, as much as I would love to comply with your orders, I’m no longer… Well,  I am Prince Leo’s retainer. You do realize that anything I do, I must report back to him, yes? Even little things, such as meeting with Princess Azura…” He leaned down now, to mutter into her ear. Was that… alcohol, she smelled on him?

Over her shoulder, Jakob had tensed considerably. “So then, that’s a ‘no’?” Asked the princess.

Niles sighed as he straightened again. “Well, you particularly interest me, so I won’t rat you out, no… As for the dragonstones, well…” The bowman drifted further, behind Azura, then over to another bookshelf as if the conversation had bored him. “I can tell you that there’s only one in all of Windmire. And it’s in this castle’s very own treasury, Princess Azura.”

The Vallite kept still, though excitement flashed in her golden eyes as she retained this newest piece of information. _In the castle…_

“Hmh… To be honest, I’d love to indulge and help you out some more with whatever it is you’re up to,” said the thief, sauntering back up the stairs to his desk, “but as I said, I’m already regarded enough as an untrustworthy thief around here. I wouldn’t want to go validating some nasty rumor like that, would I, now…?”

“I think you’ll find that embracing whatever role the castle assigns you would be best,” Azura found herself saying, and with that she swirled around on her heel towards the exit. Jakob followed closely.

Niles poked his face back up from the book in his hands, again, watching the two leave. His lips curled into a smirk. “You’re not so bad, Princess Azura.”

-*-

Jakob’s hands fumbled for the sheet of stationery Azura was sliding across to his side of the desk. He’d stopped bothering to keep the confusion from showing on his face. Glancing at his liege, he opened his mouth in question, but the girl shushed him, placing one finger over her lips so as to keep him silent. Golden eyes flicked to the door, where the guards sat just outside, likely twiddling their thumbs in wait. _They cannot hear this._

Frown deepening, the butler nodded and looked over the sheet of paper. Had he less self control, he might’ve gasped at the words written there. _“I want to steal the castle’s dragonstone.”_ When he looked up, jaw hanging open, Azura was still, hands folded in her lap, determination gleaming in her eyes.

Quickly, the butler grabbed the quill lying on the tabletop and wrote a response, before sliding the note back across to the princess.

_“Milady, I’m not sure I understand. With how closely you’re being watched, is this truly a good idea? How would we go about doing this, if Lord Niles would not assist us?”_

She stood, all of a sudden, pacing around the room. It was drafty. She was barefoot, as usual. “Jakob,” chimed the princess evenly, “would you start a fire? It’s awfully drafty today.”

The butler took one last glance at the sheet before standing and bowing. “As you wish, milady. I must agree.”

As Jakob got to work, Azura returned to the paper, silent as a ghost. The quill slid across the page, filling it with small, secret words. When she finished, she turned around to Jakob, who was on the other side of the chamber, and called, “That’s enough, I think.”

The fire didn’t quite fill the fireplace, but it was built up enough to warm the room, at least. Brow furrowed, Jakob hurried back over to the table. “…As you wish, milady.”

Holding his breath, he read the newly written words, careful not to smudge the ink. _“I’ve been thinking since the meeting with him, and I’ve decided now that that’s what we must do. And I do have a plan – it involves the man who attempted to kidnap me a few years ago. I don’t know if you remember that, but he was a Hoshidan ninja, and he may still be held by the crown. I want you to look into this, but you should probably be careful so as not to bring any more suspicion to us.”_

When Jakob finished reading over the note a second time, his gray eyes met Azura’s, unblinking, and uncertain. She tilted her head as if asking if he was finished reading, and the butler handed over the note with another nod.

Sighing, Azura plucked the stationery from Jakob’s gloved hands and padded over to the fireplace, which was alive and blooming with heat now. Unflinching, she tossed the note into the flames, watching as it burned to ash.

-*-

The harsh wind refused to relent as it thundered across the valley. The sky, as was usual for Nohr, was a mess of black clouds and distant lightning. Plains stretched out as far as the eye could see, eventually giving way to mountains; their soil had long since been leached, making what once must’ve been farmland nothing more than wastes now. The gales picked up waves of dust and blew them across the road running through the middle of this landscape, harassing the caravan making its way along.

Near the head of this group was the Crown Prince Xander, donned fully in armor, down to the helmet he was now grateful for given the weather. Beneath the twisted metal, his teeth were gritted, jaw clenched.

Winter had since settled across Nohr, burying any traces of the autumn joy in its unbearable cold and heavy snows. Since his tournament, Xander had been hard at work settling skirmishes in the south and patrolling the border out east, as well as running dozens and dozens of different types of war drills with the growing Nohrian army. Since the Hoshidan queen had put up that barrier, the military had slacked off as much as the word had meaning in the country of Nohr, with more focus being put into the national guard division and, more importantly, the development of the Faceless – something Xander saw as a total failure in all regards, but did not dare voice his opinion about.

And so, with that single tournament, and that one revelation of Garon’s, the mobilization had begun, slowly but surely. Until about a week ago, the prince had not heard another word of that mysterious dragon, from his father or Iago.

_“The preparations are complete. My son, you are to travel to the Northern Fortress with your belongings from the castle and work with the dragon. With time, it will bend to your will, and be able to fight by your side… when that happens, and you are convinced it is ready, Nohr can redirect its efforts towards an offensive against Hoshido, and we can at last revitalize our great country.”_

_“I expect you to live at the Fortress full-time. You’ve excelled in all of your classes and battles in Krakenburg, under my wing. I believe this is a task you will succeed at, my son. I may occasionally call you away to assist in a battle or make a formal appearance, but other than that you must work entirely on fitting that dragon with the necessary skills to help us. Do you understand?”_

_“Iago will check in with you occasionally. I will only come if absolutely necessary._ It should not be _. Handpicked elite guards are permitted entry, as well as your three siblings. Anyone else is forbidden to enter. Since this is an important secret of ours – nothing the Hoshidans can ever find out about until we’ve begun our offensive – I’ve had Iago install a magical barrier over the entire fortress to cloak it, as well as that dragon’s power. If you have any suspicions that the security could be compromised, you should act accordingly. Do you understand? The fate of Nohr is in your hands, my son.”_

And so, the prince followed the northern road across Nohr’s battered, uninhabitable wastelands. The Northern Fortress laid a few day’s journey north of Windmire, cradled between mountains of stone that pointed up into the clouds. Windmire sat just beyond the base of this range, with a stretch of plains separating the city borders from the rugged highlands. The fortress itself was so buried within the mountains that it was a pain for anyone to reach, regardless of status or accommodations. And it had been abandoned for quite some time – the two months between that tournament and now must have been to freshen it up for its new guests, he supposed.

Xander grimaced beneath his helmet and held his horse’s reins a little tighter, but other than that did not protest to his fate that lied in wait with that monstrous thing. In the end, it was Father’s word, he supposed, and something that could decide Nohr’s future.  The prince would do anything, bear anything, in order to see that his country was healthy once more – that Garon, too, was back to his old self.

So he wordlessly endured the long journey into Nohr’s empty northern region, perhaps enjoying the isolation that the soundless, lifeless mountains brought him a little too much. Despite the aching loneliness in his heart at being separated once again from his siblings, Xander was at least without the guilt that came with being around them.

On the sixth day of their travels – though it was impossible for Xander to tell the time himself, as the sky had maintained its usual dark cover of clouds the entire journey – the group came upon the fortress at last. Frigid air seeped through the prince’s armor, chilling his already numb limbs. At first, he’d mistaken the peaks of the spires for mere mountaintops, as the horizon itself was a jagged mess of them, but as some of his guard had pointed out, they were much too skinny to be mountains. On top of this, a light snow had begun to fall, creating a sort of haze in the distance – but through it, Xander could make out dim, saffron lights on those spires. Undoubtedly, this was the inhabited Northern Fortress.

The caravan made its way down the winding switchbacks of the mountain road, extra careful now that their journey was near its end. The path was astonishingly unused, with many sections of it beaten away by rockslides. Xander figured they were lucky to have made this much progress and gotten here before the worst of winter arrived; surely a road this narrow and steep would freeze over eventually, preventing travel altogether.

The prince took a deep breath so as to calm himself again, and instead focused on the fact that he’d soon have a soft bed and perhaps a warm bread roll before him.

-*-

Few guards had been at the fortress beforehand – surprisingly few, even to Xander. If he counted, sifting through the twenty or so that had escorted him here in the first place, there might’ve been four or five. He was much too delirious from his travels to tell. The lot of them sat in a scarce dining hall. For an abandoned place, the fortress wasn’t looking bad at all. Of course, anything was a step down from Krakenburg, but there were carpets laid out, Nohrian banners all around, blazing braziers, torches, chandeliers and what have you, and plenty of furnishings. The food, thought Xander as he eyed the stale loaf of bread and bowl of stew before him, could do better, but the men had promised that more was on its way before the worse storms rolled in.

Xander had brushed the others off once all formalities were done with and retreated to the other end of the hall in an attempt to recover. The grand tour would have to wait, he supposed – he felt as if he might just pass out on the table itself. Wolfing down the last of his meal, the prince stood and dragged himself back over to the crowd.

One of the posted guards was more than happy to guide the crown prince to his room, and so, off they went, up staircase after staircase and Xander feared his legs would break under the weight of his upper body and armor. The fortress was more a collection of towers than it was a singular building, with a variety of courtyards and elevated walkways to move between each. The guard’s words reached Xander’s brain in pieces – there was a library, an armory and stables (the most important three to the prince), a small barracks… and everything was well furnished, he said, with more than enough supplies provided for Xander, the elite guards staying here, and the rest of the staff (which apparently consisted of a meager three servants).

As they reached the wide top of one of the towers, the prince wondered about the last, unmentioned, and perhaps most notable guest at the Northern Fortress. He must’ve wondered out loud, because the guard then began speaking of the dragon, a nervous edge in his tone now that Xander hadn’t noticed before.

“…Yes… That was the biggest task, making a place for that thing to live. There’s a building they put together back down on the ground, just a little one, but large enough to house that thing. We’ll show you how it works once you’re all rested up, Prince Xander, how things will be run around here, according to His Majesty.”

Dull fear rolled in Xander’s gut, but he was much too exhausted to care. He hummed a reply, thanked the guard as he was shown his quarters, and hastily undid his armor before collapsing in bed.

-*-

Xander awoke to the smell of smoke.

“ _…Sister! What are you…”_

_“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!!”_

_“Ahg…”_

He inhaled deeply in a half-yawn before propping himself up on one arm. Reality sunk into his thoughts – the Northern Fortress, the journey was over, the guard had brought him here the night before. It was time he surveyed the rest of the grounds…

…But again, as he breathed in he smelled the rancid scent of smoke. Xander sat up further, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his usual grimace sinking onto his face as he glanced around his room. His eyes fell upon a cloud of grey puffs on the far end of his chambers. Before it stood two maids, muttering at each other in high-pitched but quieted tones and skittering around the fireplace.

When he raised his voice, it might’ve been a bit too loud, but in his defense he was still half-asleep. “What is this…?”

Both maids spun around on their heels as the prince approached, trembling at the fearsome look on his face. “I-I-I-I-I…” stuttered one of the maids, with salmon-colored hair.

“My sister, Felicia, has made an error in kindling the fireplace. Please, forgive us, Prince Xander. We’ll fix this momentarily…” the other managed.

Xander was too distracted by the maids themselves to care about the hungry fire roaring just beyond them. The identical ice tribe twins – yes, he remembered now. “You two are… the twin maids from the Ice Tribe…” His suspicions were confirmed as both of them raised their hands over the fire, flames licking just below their palms, and summoned up frost magic that calmed things significantly. “What are you two doing in a place like this…?”

“Your room? I’m sorry, mister Prince, sir! We were not told last night that you had retired so early, so we hurried in this morning to start a fire and warm your quarters, but…”

The prince shook his head. At last, the smoke fumes were starting to bother him, and he waved one hand in front of his face to try and disperse it. “That’s not it – here, in the Northern Fortress, I mean. I thought you were assigned to one of my siblings…”

Felicia and Flora exchanged a glance. Xander was always offset by how identical their oval-shaped faces really were. Perhaps that was the reason Flora had dyed her hair (or was it Felicia who had?) “We were assigned here, by the King’s orders, my lord,” said the blue-haired twin.

“I see…” Xander rubbed his chin in thought. _Father never truly trusted them. Perhaps placing them in a place as isolated as this is testament to that. They’re out of Krakenburg, where they would be able to start trouble if they wanted, and instead somewhere completely under the King’s command, inescapable without the Nohrian royal guard, unreachable by outsiders…_ He glanced at the two women again, a tired sigh escaping his lungs. _So, in that way, they’re basically prisoners._

“In any case, l-let me make it up to you, Prince Xander! I-I’ll fetch some tea! Excuse me!” Felicia nearly shouted before hurrying from her room. Flora followed hot on her trail, barking something about “What tea!” and “Wait for me, you can’t do this yourself, sister!”

Sighing, the prince began his morning routine.

-*-

“…And here we are at last, on the ground floor, Prince Xander!”

The guard giving the tour was the same from last night, and the prince was convinced this was because he was the cheeriest of the bunch, or perhaps the youngest and the others had forced him into it. Two hours had been spent exploring the fortress from the top down, weaving between the different spires, Xander himself prospecting areas he’d find good for training. It was certainly much different from Krakenburg, and required much walking, but living in a remote fortress was also a substantial change from his previous lifestyle that consisted of riding across Nohr in his father’s name.

“…Now then, I suppose we should get right to it,” the guard chimed, stepping out into the cold wintery air, Xander on his heel.

As usual, it was dark out, despite being late morning – Xander was sure of it, now, there was a clock in his room and a few others throughout the fortress – and each breath he took chilled his chest. The light snow from the night before still persisted, the flakes spiraling down from the clouds high above and accumulating against the fortress grounds. The wind, at least, had subsided.

Xander felt especially small as the two of them weaved between towering spires. The guard babbled away, and he half-listened, half absorbed his surroundings. Gardens of withering vegetation were scattered here and there, on either side of the cobblestone paths that laced the fortress grounds. There were a few statues, too, and a number of courtyards that’d be good for training. He was shown a barracks, where many of Xander’s escorts were relaxing with plenty of mead, and an armory, which sat beside the stables.

Just beyond the stables, framed by the enormous wall surrounding the fortress itself, was the official holding pen for their special guest. The bulk of it was underground, a sort of cell built into the frozen earth, though there was an opening – for fresh air, perhaps – around eight meters each way that provided a view inside. Thick, steel bars lined it, measured specifically so that the dragon’s horned neck would not be able to fit through them. The two approached it, and the guard quieted.

It really was, essentially, a giant hole in the ground; however, through the bars Xander could indeed make out the grey stone floor of a room’s foundation. Natural light drifted in, but so did snow, forming a thin blanket where the cell’s above-ground window looked down upon. The room’s guest was not in sight, hidden somewhere in those pitch-black shadows, the prince supposed.

Before the holding pen, to the left, was a huge, circular courtyard. Stone pillars, thick but nothing compared to the three spires rising up around this particular area, lined the perimeter, making it almost appear like an arena. Outside this, in patches of dirt, sat weapon racks.  Closer to the pen itself was a huge, bolted trapdoor, built into the ground – the entryway to the cell. The courtyard was set a good distance away from the stables, and as the guard explained the use of it, Xander could infer why.

This was where he would be working with the dragon – the one that’d tried to chomp his head off his neck when he was a boy.

The prince’s scowl deepened a little more, and with a silent sigh of resignation, the two moved on towards the next section of the fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry about that long wait. Just when I'd finally finished this chapter up, I ran into some major PC issues. Next one will definitely be out way sooner! Especially since I've got a month-long break around the corner. If you've read this far, thanks for sticking it out!


	13. Stirring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Azura and her butler attempt to operate under Iago's watch; Prince Xander encounters difficulty in training his father's dragon.

Crimson light flooded the halls of Krakenburg’s prison quarters, like it did most of the castle’s lower levels. The intricate architecture had dampened down to simple stone arches and pillars, dull and crumbling with age. But despite the setting, it was anything but dead in the castle’s depths; rats and guards alike frequented the halls, crawling back and forth down identical passageways one could easily lose their way in. Jakob was trying his best not to as he scurried along; he was also making a commendable effort to hide the pure disgust filling him at the sight of just how dirty this place was. His hands tightened at their place folded behind his back, and instinctively he straightened under the gazes of the heavily-armored guards.

But all they seemed to do was gaze; never did they ask a question or try and bar the butler’s path. Jakob wasn’t sure how he should take this, so he simply carried on, soles clicking against the ground. Eventually, the monotonous walls gave way to prison cells; some of which were full, some occupied, all emitting a rancid odor. They seemed to be shoved into any place they'd fit; some cells were normal sized, some were simply a corner section of a chamber closed off by thick grating, others were literally built into the ground. It was impossible for Jakob to tell when his foot might slip between the bars of someone's pen with how the ground was already covered in patchy, groping shadow, unless a prisoner just happened to be reaching a bony hand out of the top of their cell like a zombie would its grave.

The truly offsetting part about the prison quarters was how few prisoners there actually were. Jakob may've just been a servant, but he knew enough about the country he'd lived his whole life in to know that the crime rate was so high that not even the royalty and politicians could attempt to falsify it. Krakenburg was supposed to boast the most impressive banquet rooms, ballrooms, armories, treasuries, prisons, you name it, in the entire country of Nohr, yet this... just didn't add up. The only conclusion that the young butler could come to as he waded through the dungeon filth was that Nohr strongly favored execution for even the most petty crimes... which did not do much for the chances that his Hoshidan client was still alive after all these years.

Just as he was beginning to grow queasy, Jakob heard a dreadfully familiar voice chattering up around the following corner and immediately swerved behind the next threshold. His body was small enough so that he could duck between the crevice of a rising pillar and the wall beside it. Holding his breath, the butler listened:

“It is not my job to tend to prisoners, you know… but if I must, I will persuade you by… less humane means.” This was Iago’s voice, cold and impatient.

“I told you,” came a gruff, yet weaker voice. “I don’t know anything else. I came alone all those years ago – and even if I did know of other Hoshido spies still in Nohr back then, I’d doubt they’d still be alive now.” He spat, and by the grunt that came from Iago, Jakob guessed it was at the sorcerer’s feet. “If it wasn’t you Nohrians that got ‘em, it would’ve been the total lack of resources here. Was hard enough for me to find food by myself while I was still on my mission. You all probably serve me more food in a damn prison than those commoners get out of a day of work.”

“Silence, Hoshidan, I did not ask for your-“

“ _Kohgan,_ ” the man’s voice carried venom as he said this, “I’m from Kohga, not Hoshido.”

Iago scoffed. “All the same. A ninja is a ninja. In any case, if that’s all you’re going to tell me, I’ll be taking my leave.”

There were four, five footsteps before the prisoner spoke up again: “Wait…” he sighed. “The princess, Azura…”

Silence.

“…Nevermind.”

Iago hummed, and then the footsteps continued until they faded out of Jakob’s earshot completely. He waited there, for ten, perhaps twenty more minutes before moving from the shadows and over to the cell in question.

It was a narrow space, more like an indent in the corridor wall than an actual room, and the prisoner sat right by the bars, a dead look in his eyes. Jakob was still for a moment, taking in the sight. He was older than the butler, but still young, with messy, unkempt hair, faded, dark clothes, and, though he appeared to be tall, was shockingly scrawny. That much was obvious alone at his sunken eyes and cheeks. The torch-light only lit half of his cell, the half that he was lounging on, while the other was seemingly permanently soaked in darkness. As Jakob took another cautious step forwards, his shadow fell over the man’s face, and, surprised, he peered up at the newcomer.

There were only faint traces of hostility left on his features as he assessed Jakob. As if someone had repeatedly beat at a hot, burning flame with a damp towel until all that was left were embers. Like he’d given up. Jakob sighed before speaking.

“You… Am I right to assume you’re…” Again, he glanced down the corridor either way, but there was no sign of the towering, raven-cloaked man, or anyone else. “You’re the one who attempted to kidnap Lady Azura…?”

The prisoner didn’t respond, and Jakob would’ve repeated his question had he not noticed how the man’s eyes narrowed just slightly, like he’d flinched at the accusation.

“So you are…” muttered the butler, bringing a hand to his chin in thought. “And you appear to be quite stubborn when it comes to those Nohrians questioning you, as well…”

“You…” he grumbled, teeth clenching beneath his lips. “Who are you?”

Jakob’s arms crossed over his chest. “Before I tell you that, I need your word that you will not speak of anything I tell you to anyone.”

Chain-links jingled and a hiss escaped the prisoner’s lips as he pulled himself to his feet, standing slouched over in an attempt to meet Jakob eye-to-eye. “My word?” His pale features screwed up in distaste, and the butler feared another hacking spit was coming, this time for his brand new, shiny boots – a birthday gift courtesy of Gunter. “Why don’t I call that sorcerer bastard back here and ask him who the hell you are, then?”

The outlaw began taking in a breath – clearly, it wasn’t a bluff – and Jakob stuttered, “Wait…! Damn it…” Burying a hand in his hair, the butler continued. “I’m here by Princess Azura’s command. No one is supposed to know this, do you hear me? She could be executed if the wrong people found out I was meddling like this.” This appeared to faze the prisoner – he shut his mouth and lowered his gaze. “Of course,” Jakob then slipped a hand into his vest, and it emerged with a long, freshly-sharpened kitchen knife, “If you refuse, I can make things simpler for everyone and silence you now.”

The black-haired man held up both hands before him, the chain-links clanging against each other. “Okay, okay, mister butler. I don’t want that princess dead… contrary to what you might think.”

Jakob wasn’t convinced. “You must contemplate what I’m about to tell you. I know just my being here might be enough information to convince that filthy wizard to free you… But Lady Azura has told me she has a plan in mind that would also promise you freedom. What do you say? Would you rather betray the princess now? Or help her?”

The silence brought back by their pause was filled by the crackling of the nearby torches and a distant dripping within the prison tunnels. Beneath this ambience was the occasion mutter of a prisoner. Shura relaxed back against the wall, eyeing the butler carefully, some life having returned to his worn husk of a body. “An escape plan, for me… I can’t imagine that young girl being that cunning, or that sympathetic. It’s best you don’t try anything at all, or else your liege might just get executed by Iago, like you’ve been saying.”

One of Jakob’s hands snapped to the cell bar, and he leaned in closer, glaring at the prisoner with the eyes of an angered dog. “I may not be privy to all the details of her plan, but Lady Azura is more than capable of working her way around Castle Krakenburg. Years have passed since your capture, and I’m certain that many more are still to come without you leaving this place. She’s offering you a chance at freedom and forgiveness, and you would turn it down?”

The outlaw looked as if he was going to lash out again, but he didn’t; his shoulders fell and that same conceded look washed over his expression. “Alright, then… I can help out with this plan of hers, or try to, with what’s left of me.”

“Good.” Jakob straightened, backing away from the cell. “I will tell her you will cooperate, and we will return when the conditions are right.” His eyes flashed in the orange light of the torches. “I hope you won’t go back on your word.”

With that, the butler turned on his heel and left, his nerves nearly overwhelming him.

-*-

“Stand back.”

The guardsman obeyed the crown prince as he finished cranking open the gate that led into the dragon’s holding pen.

“We’ll secure the harness as soon as it surfaces,” explained the man, gesturing to the large, metal contraption two other soldiers were dragging over towards Xander. Four long chains were dragged along with it; three of them stretched out to the bottoms of each of the three pillars surrounding this half of the circular arena they were situated in, while the fourth stretched upwards a ways, bound near the top of the middle pillar, so as to keep the dragon from flying off.

But apparently, such a maneuver wasn’t in its skill set – at least, not yet. Xander had labored much over the book Iago had so graciously written and gifted to him, detailing sometimes in discomforting accuracy all the abilities, tendencies, and behaviors of Nohr’s captured dragon. Included between the useless details like wingspan length and the strength and resilience of the wings themselves, he’d noted that the dragon was simply unable to stay in the air for more than a few seconds. It certainly made things easier for the prince when it came to… training the thing, but the fact that whoever designed the arena still deemed it necessary to have a fourth leash to prevent flying still put him on edge.

For a few, long, cold seconds, there was no sign of movement from within the shadows of the den, and the only sound was the quivering chains of the harness the guards were all struggling to hold up. Far up above, in the bubbling gray sky, the last traces of a passing thunderstorm made themselves heard. Then, all at once, the dragon came charging out, in the same bloodthirsty frenzy it always seemed to direct towards Xander – and right into the prepared contraption. Moving with haste, the guards heaved the harness shut and it clamped around the dragon’s midsection. Immediately, the three of them then stepped back as the fight unfolded.

The prince was pushed back to the other half of the ring in seconds, deflecting claw after claw, a cloud of dust and dirt forming around the two. The dragon just never seemed to tire – always it was enraged, only interested in expending all its energy on trying to tear Xander apart, not the least bit intelligent as Iago had made it out to be. What, then, was he supposed to do with it? What does Father want from me? What does he expect?

A lunge from the dragon’s jaws broke Xander from his daze, and just barely in time, he raised his shield to block the long, pointed appendage. The blow sent him stumbling backwards, out of breath, and it was only thanks to the dragon’s restraints, now fully taut, that he wasn’t gored right then. From the sidelines, the guards, their tension at an all time high, watched with their hands tightened around their halberds, until finally one sprinted into the ring to try and help the prince to his feet.

Xander would’ve noticed the movement sooner if his peripheral vision wasn’t partially obscured by the helmet he was made to wear. And so, by the time he spotted the guard scuttling across the frozen dirt, heard the man’s battle cry, and shouted out “No! _Stop_!” it was too late; the infuriated dragon, unable to take down its first target, swerved off to the right and lashed out at the unexpecting guardsman, who had just barely entered its range.

Heart pounding, the prince flew to his feet, raising Siegfried in the air and summoning up more of its energy. The guard’s oval-shaped face turned stark white as one raking claw came down upon him; only part of the blow was caught by his halberd, and sharp nails still managed to sweep horizontally across his midsection, tossing him like a dummy back into the dust.

The prince fired a blast of magic from Siegfried, and like a dagger of smoke it pierced the dragon’s back, between its shoulder blades, earning a loud shriek. The reaction from his blade was almost immediate; fiery pain shot up his arm and through the right half of his body, causing him to tumble down to one knee. He breathed a curse under his breath, teeth sinking into his lip. The other two guards had gathered up the injured one by now, and had lead him far out of range. In the back of Xander’s mind, he heard the servant bell’s loud ringing as the guards signaled for a healer. Just a few more seconds, and they’d work the pulleys attached to the pillars, reeling in the chains connected to the dragon’s harness so as to cage it back up…

But despite the spear of energy lobbed in the beast’s side, it was upon Xander again instantly, rearing up on its hind legs, and he cursed himself once more for having staggered forwards to help that guard, because he’d put himself again in range of those razor sharp claws. Fear seized him, locked up his already screaming muscles, sent his stomach flipping over and over…

…But the attack never came. When the haze cleared, the dragon had nearly been dragged back to its cage, leaving a trail of claw marks in its wake. Xander watched the scene from afar, feeling as if he wasn’t even in his own body. Normally he’d be the one to initiate the final push, forcing the dragon back through the cell gates; once the chains restrained it there, he would stand guard, Siegfried ready, as the soldiers hurried in, undid the harness, and slammed the gate shut. Without his help, it was a hassle for them – not to mention with one man down. But Xander found he couldn’t move; he felt terribly ill, his heart pounding too fast and his stomach swirling furiously.

Soon, the guards, along with one of the maids – was it Felicia, or Flora? – were upon him, looking down with concern etched onto their faces. Xander couldn’t understand why; in fact, he could barely hear them over the blood roaring in his ears. Blinking, the prince realized his breathing was anything but normal, and he stared at the shivering ground as he attempted to find some sense of balance…

“…Xander?” The voice was faint, but grew stronger, like he was in a cave. “Prince Xander? Prince Xander! Are you alright?”

Finally, the boy came back fully, his breath normal, his heart slowing. He shivered as the moisture clinging to him beneath his armor was cooled by the penetrating winter air. “I’m fine,” he choked, standing up fully, finding that his right side was still vaguely numb. Red eyes found the injured guard, now propped up against one of the pillars by the other maid, his wounds being treated. “You should be concerned about him. I wasn’t able to warn him in… time.”

Hesitantly, the prince’s three underlings nodded and hurried over to the downed guard. Xander took another minute to breathe, again, to force himself to calm down, and to sheathe Siegfried, which still burned hot in his grasp as if it wanted to jump from his hand. He stared past the gates of the dragon pen for a minute more before limping off towards the main keep.

-*-

“I don’t want any of you around there, anymore. Not while the dragon is loose. Is that understood?”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances with each other. They’d moved inside, now, out of the cold, and were huddled around a small cot holding the injured young man. “Yes, Prince Xander.”

“The dragon is harnessed, the chains are loosened, and then it’s off with all of you. I can handle things from there.” Xander stood towering above them, trying not to let his gaze stray over to the guard’s body.

“Yes, milord… but… what if you’re in danger? He was only trying to help-“

“If I’m going to let myself be killed by that thing,” the prince stated, “then I’d likely deserve it. My job is to prepare it accordingly for war. If I cannot even do that, then if it’s not the dragon beheading me, it will be my father.”

Perhaps that was a bit too serious, he thought, but it was true, and it got the point across, because the guards shut their mouths and turned slowly back to their unconscious comrade. Xander’s eyes scanned the fallen man’s form, again; the wounds themselves weren’t as bad as they’d thought and would heal quickly, but it had been the sheer force of the push that’d knocked him unconscious. All because…

Grinding his teeth, Xander turned on his heel and stormed up the nearest stairwell. All because he’d just… stopped working, it seemed. He’d been training for weeks now, on and off, with the dragon, fighting it, observing it, trying his damned best to get it to listen to him or to submit but to no avail; only now did that raw fear decide to revisit him just as it had during the tournament held to celebrate his birthday. Boots clanged against stone as the prince stomped up stair after stair until eventually, he found himself back in his quarters. A fire was already lit, along with the chandelier hanging from the ceiling; the warm light managed to hold off the darkness sitting just outside the windows.

Sighing, the prince began the tedious process of removing his armor, tossing each chunk of it onto the foot of his bed. His head buzzed with frustration; he was out of options. Nothing seemed to be working. Iago had written of the dragon’s intelligence, but not once did it acknowledge his words or his actions, whether they were hostile or neutral. If it had once had some awareness beyond that of a wild animal, it must’ve lost it by now, the prince figured – that was how it went, wasn’t it? The dragons of old, too, had all gone insane before dying out. Dragging out dummies to try and get the beast to cooperate with him didn’t seem to work, either; aside from the incident today, the dragon’s focus was always poured solely into Xander, as if it held some personal vendetta against him. And then there was the issue of Siegfried… It misbehaved every time it was pointed at the dragon, as if it were screaming out in protest at even the slightest nick Xander left on his foe. Yet when he trained alone, or sparred with the other guardsmen, the blade didn’t phase him in the slightest.

His hands clenched into tight fists as he stared up at the ceiling. “How…? What am I supposed to be doing? At this rate… I’ll fail Father and his wishes.” _And fail Nohr, at that…_

-*-

Azura took a long, shaky breath. Golden eyes were focused ahead, on a long, silver archway that led into Castle Krakenburg’s treasury. She had done well enough in getting this far – it was buried beneath the throne room, accessible only through corridors crawling with royal guards that would surely rat her out to Iago once he returned if she roused their suspicion. Luck had been in her favor up until now, however. The new, dark violet dress that Camilla had sewed as a gift for her last birthday had truly allowed her to blend in and appear as any other Nohrian noble would.

It seemed, however, that confrontation was at last imminent. Two guards stood on either side of this entryway, hands clutching tight their spears. The royal guard were notoriously good at sniffing out threats and carrying out Garon’s most sinister requests – they’d been the ones to capture Leo’s retainer, after he’d attempted to break into this same treasury, along with his band of thieves.

Act normal, the princess urged herself, taking in another deep breath. _You belong here, you belong here…_ It wasn't the easiest thing to convince herself of, after years and years of being neglected by nearly every living being within Castle Krakenburg.

Casually, she padded out from the shadows and approached the glistening silver arch.

In retrospect, she thought, it would have been easier to send Jakob on this task. She was grateful – indebted, even – for him for as much as he’d done already, in scouting the castle grounds and providing her with updates. A simple butler wandering in Krakenburg’s remote corners prompted much less suspicion than the estranged princess, under surveillance by the king’s head advisor, did. But she just had to see it for herself, she reasoned. To be certain.

Her luck seemed to fail her, just then, however. Both of the guard’s heads turned towards the approaching girl; as she neared the entrance, chin tilted upwards, they moved in towards each other so as to bar the way. The ornate points of their spears seemed to glitter even brighter in the saffron light.

“What business do you have here?” Grunted the first, suspicion clear on his grizzly face.

Azura cowered back some, eyes trailing to the floor. “I-I wanted to see the treasures. Is that wrong?” Clenching one hand in the other, she went on: “I’m the daughter of a noble, you know…” _Gods, what am I saying?_ “If my father were to find out I wasn’t allowed to go see the pretty jewels in the treasury…”

Sighing, the men exchanged uneasy glances before sliding back to their posts. “We’ll have eyes on you, girl, so don’t try anything.”

Forcing a smile, Azura nodded and shifted past the men without another word.

The treasury was as massive as the nobles boasted it was; there were at least a dozen corridors spanning out on either side of the main hall, all full to the brim with everything imaginable; paintings, tapestries, jewels, gowns, uniforms, maps, and, of course, spoils of war – those came in the form of anything from swords to skulls. The princess even spotted lengths of rope once used to hang notable traitors to Nohr. It seemed nothing was too gruesome to put on display.

After spending some time wandering, she remembered her task at hand and set about it, eyes scanning the barred-off displays for something resembling a dragonstone. All the while, she tried to avoid the guards whenever possible – there was no telling when she’d finally be recognized.

Eventually, the girl turned a corner and found what she was looking for. A large display case, hidden behind glass rather than bars, held a number of noteworthy items. There was a replica of Nohr’s legendary weapons, Siegfried and Bryndlhir, as well as numerous axes, maces, and spears made famous by the royals of the past who had wielded them. Further towards the front of the display were smaller items – Azura furrowed her brow as she eyed them. The pocket-size portraits and trinkets belonging to royals – those were normal. However…

Laying stark and white against the red fabric lining the case were… they had to be bones. _Bones?_ And beside them… lying inconspicuously there were tiny, glass vials full of a still, scarlet liquid. Azura took in an uneasy breath and glanced down at the plaque built into the wall.

 _Blood. Of… of the royal family. They… collect it?_ Her jaw clenched as she held up one hand to the glass. _And bones… The bones are of…_

Slowly, she dragged her eyes away from the strange collection up towards the back of the display, where, centered, was a small pedestal, surrounded by much larger bones, ones that were distinctly not human. Shimmering a deep sapphire blue atop the pedestal was her target – a dragonstone.

Azura bit her lip as she drew back away from the glass. _So then, it was here after all… I’ll know where to bring that Hoshidan ninja, then, when the time is right…_

“You, there!”

The princess gasped, stumbling further back from the display. A guard – no, two – were sauntering over from the left, displeasure written all over their faces.

She didn’t dare move but a few steps back as they towered over her, eyebrows and lips perked up in suspicion. “What are you doing, skulking over here for so long?”

“You’ve been here a while, haven’t you, girl?”

Azura clenched her fists, but kept her voice level. “I only wanted to look at Nohr’s great war spoils.”

The taller one spoke, his tone clearly condescending. “Oh? That’s what you told the guards at the entrance, wasn’t it? You seem pretty interested in the royal’s display, though. Don’t you know how expensive these items are worth?”

The shorter guard scratched at his beard. “We had that one break in a few years back. Wouldn’t be surprised if the thieving scum of the underworld decided to try out a new tactic…”

“You truly thing a weak girl like me would try to perform a heist, alone, against the Nohrian royal castle…?” Questioned the princess, holding her head high.

The guards shrugged at each other. “Sure. We’ve had plenty of little royal rascals do it in the past. Children of concubines trying to hold something against each other. Unfortunately for them, Nohrian law doesn’t offer any exceptions for thieving little girls… even if they were just under the command of their whoring mothers.”

Azura gasped through her nostrils, her fists clenching tighter. Quickly, she folded her arms behind her. _They’ve… killed children? For trying to steal from the treasury?_

The taller one rubbed his chin again, advancing on the princess once more, driving her a few more steps away until her back met with the cold, stone wall. All at once the cool temperature the stone reminded her just how revealing Camilla’s dress was compared to her normal garb. Nohrian clothes were unfortunate in that sense, but Vallite gowns had only made her stand out even more. When she looked back up at the guardsmen, their eyes had… obviously wandered. She squared her shoulders as she attempted to stand her ground. “Fine,” called the girl, faking a pompous tone, channeling one of the many noble girls who’d taunted her so often in her childhood. “I will take my leave, as you fools demand. But my father will hear of this, and soon the king…”

As she slid to the right so as to maneuver past the guards, she was stopped by a spear as its jagged tip clanged against the wall. The shorter guard had tilted it forwards. "You... you seem familiar, girl. Where've I seen your face before?" Again, panic got the better of her and for a few long seconds she could only watch them stand there like leering snakes, her cool composure rapidly crumbling. "That pretty face... almost looks like that late Queen-"

“My… what naughty boys, you lot are.”

The men paused in their looming over the princess at this new, bold voice. Azura remained still, as if her body itself had turned to the same obsidian stone that made up the wall she pressed her back to, heart pounding against her chest.

With the silence brought on by this lack of movement, eventually the three picked up on footsteps – it was the taller guard who heard them first, turning his head down the hallway to the right, followed by the shorter one, and then Azura, who wasn’t as accustomed to having to pick up on such muted noises. Out of the shadows provided by the thick columns that decorated each intersection came a man familiar to the princess – and to the guards.

Young, lithe, with curly white hair, an indigo cloak, a quiver strapped around his back…

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now,” he cooed, rubbing his hands together. “After all, that is a Nohrian princess you’re making such daring advances on.”

Azura glared at Niles immediately following his words, but their meaning didn’t seem to reach the two guards, who instantly swerved around to face the archer. In her peripheral vision, the princess spotted the opening created as the bearded guard pulled away his weapon, and she took the chance to slip past him, creating some distance between herself and the three other men. Niles, who hadn’t broken eye contact with her, smiled at Azura and blinked his one eye shut in what was probably a wink.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite thief,” growled the shorter guard, shifting to a defensive stance.

The second guard did the same, pointing the black, curved tip of his spear out towards the royal retainer. “Back up to your old dirty work?”

Niles stuck out his lower lip in a pout. “I’m simply ashamed you’d think of me that way.” His eye, however, told a different story than his casual demeanor did; it regarded the two guards with nothing but animosity. Azura, on her toes, observed the exchange with caution.

“Put down your weapon, street-rat, or we’ll report you to the King himself,” warned the guard in a low growl. “You’ll get the execution you earned a long time ago.”

Deliberately, Niles reached for the simple wooden bow on his back and dropped it to his side. The guards wasted no time in closing in on him, though this time their creeping eyes weren’t their weapon of choice – their wicked spears were.

“Are you going to cuff me?” inquired Niles, his breath sounding short all of a sudden, arms raising lazily into the air as the pointed metal neared his torso. “As much as I’d like that… what of your other plaything? You’re not going to just forget about her, are you?”

Azura froze, once again tossing the retainer a nasty leer. She could’ve sworn his lips curved up ever so slightly as their eyes met again.

“We’ll handle her after we take care of you. She can’t leave here without running into another patrol. Can’t say the same for a mongrel like you…”

“Well, I’m flattered,” Niles hummed, before he began to move. Azura took in a breath of amazement. The bowman leaned to the left, towards the shorter guard, his hand snapping down to grab hold of the spear just below its tip. Within seconds, he had the guard disarmed, and jabbed the bottom of his weapon into the man’s gut, earning a choked grunt as he toppled over to his hands and knees. The other guard was on Niles in a heartbeat, sweeping his spear around the archer’s blind side, but he anticipated the move, and, with both hands, brought the long handle of his spear around to catch the tip of the guard’s. With a single tug, Niles ripped the second weapon from the taller guard’s gloves, and, using the momentum gained from this, planted the heel of his boot into his opponent’s chest, sending him flying against the wall and knocking him completely unconscious. Niles took a short, huff of a breath, before turning back to the first soldier. His dark features were twisted in malice, and yet the bowman was still smiling, his white teeth visible beneath his lips. Without hesitation, the man brought the blunt end of the spear down on the still-disoriented guard’s head, knocking him out as well.

Azura closed her gaping mouth as the archer tossed the weapon aside and fetched his own bow.

“How was that, Princess Azura?” Niles prowled down the hallway, brushing off his clothes and fluffing his hair - though neither had been that upset by the scuffle. “I took quite a risk, coming back to this place. But it was worth it, to see what you were up to.”

The Vallite princess had finally been able to recompose herself, and so, coldly, she asked, “What do you want of me? I… thought you already said you would not help me.”

“Oh, I won’t, whatever it is you’re up to,” replied Niles, his eye flicking to the dragonstone in the display case and back to Azura. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t follow you, to try and find out exactly what it is you’re up to.”

At this, the princess tensed noticeably. Having Iago and his henchmen always snooping around in her affairs was one thing, but to have a royal retainer doing the same… it had the potential to ruin everything.

As if he’d read her thoughts, Niles circled around the princess’s side, leaning in slightly so as to get closer to her ear. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to go ratting you out to anyone. I’m just curious, is all.”

She found his voice was a little too deep for her comfort, a little too close to her ear, breath a little too warm, and she shifted backwards, fighting to keep a neutral expression on her face. “I suppose, then…” She dreaded saying the words she’d planned, all of a sudden. They seemed to stick in her throat like a bunch of brambles, refusing to leave. All of the sudden Azura understood why Jakob always had that almost amusingly-foul look on his face every time he had an encounter with this retainer. “…That I’m indebted to you, now, for that.”

Niles didn’t move from his spot, his back still slightly hunched over, gaze following Azura like a cat’s would a fish. For a few tense moments, he was silent. Then: “Well, don’t worry too much about that. There’s not much a bastard Nohrian princess could do for me that my liege couldn’t.” He smirked. “Not until you’re a bit older, at least. I’m not quite on the level of those guards, after all.”

“I’ll be returning to my quarters, then,” Azura nearly hissed, swirling around on her heel to leave – only to spot another guard patrol some fifteen yards down the next hall, their pointed helmets gleaming under the light of the chandeliers.

“Well, that’s a problem.” The archer’s voice was right beside her again, perhaps closer, and this time she wasn’t able to keep from jolting to the side. It was as if he had no footsteps at all, like his boots had some enchantment on them to remove any noise from their soles.

Azura had come prepared to deal with guards in the event she had to make a fast escape, and she told Niles this much. She kept out the part where her only true escape plan was simply to run as fast as she could until she lost the armored men in Krakenburg’s winding corridors.

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Niles hummed, a bit too loudly for Azura’s comfort considering all the patrols that were around and the way noise traveled in the wide chambers, “Since you really did exceed my expectations today, I’ll help you out one more time. No payment needed.” With that, the bowman drifted back into the corridor they had come from, waving one hand over his shoulder so as to beckon the princess along.

After taking a deep breath, Azura followed, her bare feet dragging against the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niles is fun to write, but I feel like he's almost too cliche in this chapter lmao. He's got his own agenda, but we know from in-game that he has a lot more respect for people who've been through the same level of shit he has, so maybe that's why he's bothering Azura so much.
> 
> Also, on the topic of Azura: I have trouble figuring out her character since she seems to different in the Fates main story compared to her supports, so she may seem OOC. I think spending more time in Nohr and never having known the sort of easygoing life of Hoshido (or Mikoto) would also make her a slightly different person as she grows up.
> 
> On that topic, maybe we'll check in on those other guys soon. I'm sorta dying to get to the part where I actually get to write Corrin again (and Xander, yknow, interacting) and I'm sure most of you are too, but baby steps because all those Plot Pieces™ need to be in place before we leap forward like that, heheh.


	14. Clinging to Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Xander begins to lose hope; Princess Azura puts her plans into action.

The sun likely sat at the top of the sky, glazed over with wispy clouds, but providing the most light to the Northern Fortress that it’d seen in quite some time. The courtyard nestled between keep and spires was alive with the sound of clashing blades, as the guards were all out training in the good weather. In the center of this commotion was the crown prince, once again at work with the Fortress’s draconic prisoner.

Xander was oblivious to the easy atmosphere around the fortress. He had all of his focus poured into this battle, the motions of combat that had become so redundant over the months he’d been at it. By now he was able to predict the dragon’s movements and counter suitably with little effort, however… that didn’t change the fact that he _still_ was making _no_ progress at all with the actual training.

Though it was only noon, the two had been at it for at least seven hours, and Xander’s legs and shoulders ached in weariness. The never-tiring dragon seemed to be letting up as well, with its attacks slowing, its efforts waning. As it retreated once more to the other side of the ring, chains jingling behind it, head staying locked in Xander’s direction, the prince took a moment to breathe. He leaned over, his free hand resting on his leg, sweat having pooled within each finger of his gauntlets. The air was dry enough that every pant he took felt as if moisture was being drained from his body, and the dust kicked up by the hours of scuffling didn’t help his lungs, either.

Again, like so many other days, those thoughts – doubts – began to rise in him.

 _This is futile. The most futile thing I’ve ever done…_ His teeth grinded together in frustration. _This dragon is never going to learn… Even after battling for this long, there’s not a single sign that it’s willing to listen… or even for its will to be broken… I…_

Forcing his back to straighten, Xander narrowed his eyes at the dragon. Its tail lashed out behind it – it was probably equally frustrated with its opponent – and then it charged once again, still not willing to yield.

 _I don’t understand… I don’t understand why we simply can’t tame it like the rest of Nohr’s wyverns,_ thought the prince as he brought the steel sword back up to his side, lowering into a lazy defensive stance. _At this rate, it’d be easier to simply chain it and subjugate it…_

As if he were doing a task as simple as catching a ball, Xander shifted to the side just as the dragon was upon him, then swept his arm out to slash at the hide on the back of its hind leg. It tumbled to the ground, stirring up a cloud of tan dust. A loud hiss split the air, sounding like someone had ran their nails across a chalkboard.

The prince stood there, watching with a vacant expression as the dragon went still. The dirt stirred up by the crash drifted away in patchy clouds. With near-broad daylight looking down on the immobile beast, Xander’s eyes picked up on the nicks and scars that marred its plated back. Along with that was a thick layer of dirt, grime, sand, and even erosion that appeared to be caused by magic. Over the months they’d been here, it was impossible to tell which divots were created by the prince and which had been there from the start. Whatever the start was, for an ancient dragon like this…

 Gradually, the beast began to shift again, its long neck rising and falling, finger-like claws grasping at the ground. After seven hours of fighting, _still_ , it persisted…

The last bits of Xander’s patience snapped. He threw the shoddy sword he’d been using for training to the ground, with enough force to send it skidding until it clanked against one of the restraining pillars. Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled Siegfried from its scabbard hanging at his side.

“ _Listen_ to me ! _Damn_ you…!”

Overwhelmed by its user’s ferocity, Siegfried began to shimmer violently. Red light was forced out from its blade as he readied an attack. Xander tensed, body involuntarily readying for the backlash he knew the attack would give him, muscles in his arm tensing up – then he swung…

_“B-brother!!”_

A voice, high-pitched and tight with concern. One he hadn’t heard in a while… It drew the prince from his blind anger, at least for a moment, holding his attack and giving whoever it was a chance to seize hold of him.

Two thin arms clamped around his armored one, forcibly tugging it back down to his side. Xander turned his head, peering out through the narrow slits in his helmet’s visor and finding Elise at his side. Taken aback, the prince stood frozen there, before realizing that his sister now stood in range of the dragon.

“Release me, Elise! Get back, it isn’t safe-!” he yelled, struggling with the tiny girl to raise Siegfried again. But she wasn’t having it, and let herself be lifted off of the ground as Xander drew his arms higher, her shiny black slippers waving back and forth beneath her.

Heart pounding, the paladin’s head snapped up again, finding the dragon once more…

“ _Stop_ it, brother! Can’t you see it’s all worn out!” Elise protested again. “This is too cruel!! You’re gonna kill it!!”

Xander ignored the princess’s words, but when he took a closer look at the beast he realized that it was, in fact, unmoving again. Had that last blow truly drained it of its energy, he wondered? This dragon which never seemed to tire?

Gradually, the prince lowered his stance – and Elise – and felt the beat of his heart slow down to a reasonable pace, if only to pick up once he saw two more familiar faces crossing into the dragon’s attack range.

“Leo, Camilla…”

“Hey,” called the former with a wave of her hand. Xander took note of the wicked new gauntlets she was wearing, of the same pointed black plate his were – her wyvern training must be progressing. “We thought we’d drop by to check in.”

The prince’s brow lowered. Obviously, it was a figure of speech – Father wouldn’t send all three of them up here for no reason. Not… not simply to visit their eldest brother. No, they had to be on a mission of some kind, though the northern parts of Nohr were particularly desolate…

“Elise, would you stop that?” A pang of sadness passed over Xander as Leo marched past him, not even sparing his brother a glance, to tug on Elise’s wrist – she was still clamped to Xander. “So immature! If Father were here, he’d have your head!”

Camilla huffed. “Leo!”

Rather helplessly, Xander watched as his siblings engaged with each other. The scowls Elise and Leo gave each other seemed to have grown colder. Camilla’s attempts to dispel the conflict and comfort the smallest princess only set Leo off even more; he turned his back to the both of them and crossed his arms.

_Hmm… We’re really… not as tightly knit as we used to be, are we?_

At last, the four untangled themselves. Xander became aware of the helmet still covering his head and removed it, now certain that the dragon had passed out, and too distracted by the presence of his siblings to fret over it.

“…It’s a dragon, Elise,” Leo was saying. “It needs to be disciplined like the rest of them.”

“Just because it’s a dragon, doesn’t mean we should beat them until they almost die!” Argued Elise, stomping her foot. “Camilla’s never like this with Marzia!”

“Marzia is not this disobedient, sister!” Just beyond their crowd, the guards, taking notice of the situation, had begun dragging the dragon back towards its cell. Xander quelled the urge to stop them and scold them for violating the rules he’d set up surrounding the dragon, in light of his sibling’s bickering. “And you’re forgetting just what kind of situation this is. Father has promised this to be our ultimate weapon in the war with Hoshido. If it can’t even be subjugated, then it’s no good alive at all.”

Even Leo seemed surprised by the harshness of his own words, then, his condescending expression changing to one of discomfort, legs shifting beneath him. Elise’s lips twitched before she exploded with tears, planting both her palms against her brother’s armored chest and giving him a feeble shove.

“Leo, you idiot! Y-you’re too cruel!” Xander struggled to find some sort of comforting words for the princess, but before he could open his mouth she was fleeing across the courtyards, her skirts billowing out behind her. “Why don’t you go back to hanging out with Iago! You big jerk!!”

Camilla glanced between her brothers, worry written all over her face, before turning to follow the young girl. “I’m sorry, you two… We’ll meet up later.”

With both Elise and Camilla gone now, it was only the two blond princes standing alone in the windy arena. They tensed, straightened, eyes drifting off to admire the towering walls of the fortress rather than to assess each other. Xander struggled to fight off the guilt pinching his gut. _I could have handled that better… They’re my younger siblings, after all._

“…Brother?”

Leo was the first to speak, and when Xander found the boy’s eyes again they were full of concern. He looked once again like the same shy, little brother from his childhood, not some stoic, merciless soldier who’d grown up too fast. _Not like me,_ thought the crown prince, jaw clenched.

“You…” The mage turned away, focusing instead on the group of guards heaving the dragon back into its den. “We’re not exactly briefed on what’s happening around here. All we know is that you’ve been having difficulties. How… are things going, up here?”

He sighed. “Progress is slow, but… it’s Father’s wish. I’ll pull through, somehow.”

“That’s not…” Leo groaned, a palm finding his face. “Look, just… Camilla, and Elise and I… we just wanted to know how _you’re_ doing. After all, you’ve been alone up here for a while. It doesn’t seem like the right place for the _crown prince_ …”

The question seemed to hit Xander in slow-motion. How he was doing… he didn’t dare tell Leo, who was already stressed out enough as he came of age, about the nights he spent training until he could barely stand out of pure frustration, the doubts about their father and his plans that lurked at the back of his mind, the sheer hopelessness at his situation that was fostered every failed session of training he held with Nohr’s ‘greatest weapon’. He’d made up his mind long ago that there were burdens, many burdens, that only the prince who’d take the crown had the responsibility of bearing.

Raising the corners of his lips into something he hoped resembled a smile, Xander replied, “I’m fine, Leo. It’s no different from the time I spent away from home on the battlefield.”

The shorter prince gave his brother a nod before stepping off in the direction Camilla had gone. Stiffly, Xander followed.

“…Leo,” he muttered as they walked.

“…Hm.”

“Between you and me, Father’s… ‘weapon’, and his decisions regarding the war, lately.” The prince tilted his head to the side, peering down again at the boy from behind his displaced bangs. “Are those your true thoughts on them?”

Leo tensed. Even through the thick cover of envy that’d tinted his vision of Xander for years now, this was the esteemed Nohrian crown prince all the same, and he couldn’t keep sparks of joy and gratification from his chest at the thought that his opinion might actually _mean_ something to him. “Father’s…?”

But when he craned his neck to look up at his brother, the feeling of pride in Leo’s chest vanished. Where the mage had been expecting an amiable smile from his brother that invited discussion, he found instead a slight frown, and a weariness in his eyes he’d never seen before, highlighted even moreso by the grey puffs beneath them. His elder brother had never been one to exude confidence, but somehow… in that moment it felt like _he_ was the one seeking validation, not Leo.

Vulnerable. He had never seen Xander look vulnerable as he did now.

Words got caught and jumbled up in Leo’s throat as he tried to remember what the question had even been. “Father’s plans… I-I think…” The prince shook his head, displacing the short blonde locks held back by his headband. “It’s risky, to bet so much on just one unit. But considering where Nohr is now, I think we have to take risks.” Diverting his gaze back to the stone keep they were now approaching, Leo raised his chin. “…I was surprised when Father first explained it, but now I see that he’s right. The Hoshidans certainly wouldn’t expect something like this, either.”

“…I see,” came Xander’s reply, though Leo didn’t bother to look back at his brother. “A good assessment, indeed. You’re growing up to be a wise prince, Leo.”

“…If you say so, Brother.”

Rather forcefully, the mage pushed open the heavy keep doors and entered the warm fortress halls. He didn’t like this new, foreign feeling of discomfort. The idea that the crown prince - their father’s most valued creation - was anything less than perfect did not sit well in his stomach.

 

-*-

 

“Jakob.”

Azura stood before the fireplace in her chambers, staring unblinking into the freshly-lit flames. The presence of Iago’s guards just beyond her doorway was as palpable as ever.

Jakob, downing the last of his morning tea, hummed in acknowledgement. He knew well what was coming.

“I’m going to practice singing today,” said the princess nonchalantly. “You may do as you please, so long as you’re back by the evening for supper.”

“Very well, Lady Azura,” responded the butler with a bow of his head. Without hesitation, he departed, the door slamming shut behind him.

 _It’s begun,_ thought Azura, taking a deep breath. _But there’s no use getting anxious… All I can do now is wait._

And so, the princess glided over to the one cushioned chair in her room. Often she’d curl up in it with tea or a book, tucking her feet beneath her to as keep them away from the frigid stone floor. The cushion, colored a wine red, was stained and torn here and there, but it was all she’d been able to muster over the years given her position. And so, she did just that, refilling her porcelain teacup along the way. If there was anything pleasant about her quarters, it was the scent of fresh herbs and baked goods that constantly filled the cramped rooms, thanks to Jakob’s work.

Reaching back, the princess pulled a stack of papers from the bookshelf behind her and spread them out across her lap. Famous Nohrian symphonies, taken from the library of Krakenburg’s impressive collection. Not by her, of course – not since her deliveries and communication with Corrin had been found out. But she was lucky enough to have made a few other connections in the time since then who’d run favors for her – Arthur, a soldier in the Nohrian army who’d held some level of sympathy for her ever since she was a child; Gunter, a disillusioned, high-ranking knight and friend of Jakob’s; Effie, Princess Elise’s closest friend; and Laslow, the mercenary from Xander’s tournament that had wandered his way into the world of nobles through swordsmanship alone. She’d only passed by him a few times, and yet… Jakob mentioned it’d been that man who had gone and reserved the set of symphonies from the library on her behalf, hadn’t he…?

 _I’ll have to return these to him, at some point, I suppose,_ Azura thought as her eyes glided across the music sheet, humming each note as she read it. _And… even though I can’t quite think of why he’d do such a thing, I should thank him._ The page crinkled as she turned it over. Her voice always served as a buffer against the silence that plagued her room, and onwards she hummed as the tune shifted from smooth and flowing to something jumpy, speckled with triplets and staccato notes here and there. Nohrian music was nothing like that of Valla’s, she found, feeling a pang of homesickness for a place she hardly even remembered anymore. Some of it was wild, some of it dark, much like the country itself, the notes jumbled up with each other, whereas Valla’s music was comprised largely of long, swinging notes blended with short, quick scales. Nohr’s songs were beautiful, but like a foreign language to her, where Valla’s were sweet, nostalgic lullabies.

As Azura buried herself in the waltzes and folk tunes, she could not rid the topic of Valla from her mind. _Will I be able to return there someday?_ Unlikely. Between the curse and the fact that the only point of entry was the Bottomless Canyon, so far away… And what was the point, if it was a wasteland dominated by a mad dragon, now? How would she survive there? The oppressive walls of Krakenburg seemed to close in around Azura further.

Hastily tossing the sheets inside, the princess rose from her chair, driven by the emotions stirring in her chest. She took a deep breath before recalling again the words of a song she hadn’t sung in a long time.

 

-*-

 

Everyone in Windmire had heard the news, with Jakob’s pitiful corner of it being no exception – a huge force of Hoshidans had appeared near the border, encroaching onto Nohrian land,  even pillaging villages, if you believed the rumors. Of course, that wasn’t the extent of their gruesomeness, according to the whispers that’d been drifting through the castle. They said the Hoshidans were slaughtering women and children alike, the ninjas – soldiers trained from birth to be cold assassins and masters of torture, chopping apart the bodies, burning everything to the ground as a way of honoring the Dawn Dragon, and other horrible variations of this.

Jakob wasn’t sure how much of this was true, nor did he care. The main point was that the King had immediately organized a defense force, and in turn the castle had been drained of the bulk of its population, guard included. The last few royal retainers had all marched off towards the border yesterday evening, along with the king and his advisor, Iago. With Iago, of course – to ensure his safety in such a potentially dangerous situation – went most of his personal guard. Those were the same elites keeping constant surveillance on Princess Azura and taking note of her whereabouts. All that was left of his immediate underlings were the usual two goons posted by her door.

As the butler weaved deeper into the castle’s underbelly, he became even more hopeful in his liege’s plan. It wasn’t just the guard of the upper levels and Clarkenstein that had left to answer this sudden call to arms. Even the prison quarters had lighter security. _This makes things easier,_ he thought, smiling.

Jakob could only hope that the Hoshidan prisoner he was here to break out was as prepared as he was.

As the corridors became mustier and damp with scarlet light, an idea occurred to the butler, and he tucked himself into the shadows of a column. He held his breath so as to listen closely for approaching footsteps, all the while rummaging through the black vest he wore for the right equipment.

In due time, the scuffing of boots made its way into the hall as an unexpecting guard ran his patrol. Long, thin windows lined the opposing wall, decorating the floor with stripes of black and red. Once the man had stepped between two of these windows and into a shadow, Jakob moved, stepping out from his hiding place, torso twisting, arm flashing out before him…

The man gasped, a hand rising to rub at the section of bare skin on his neck which the dagger had just barely skimmed. Seconds later, Jakob was there, knocking him out before he even realized what was going on. It was good, the butler figured, that Gunter had wised him up on close-quarters combat. It was an integral skill if he were to properly defend the princess, he had been told. _I suppose this means I’ll have to_ thank _that old man, at some point._

After dragging the guard’s body to a half-decent hiding place and doing his best to clamp the heavy armor onto his own torso, Jakob continued on his task, praying to the gods that he would not be discovered. At least the helmet covered his face. Partially. It did nothing for the long braid of gray hair trailing out behind him, though. But it was better camoflauge than simply strolling in as he had the last time. The less the guard knew about him, the better.

Fortune seemed to favor Jakob now where it hadn’t in his miserable childhood, though. The other guards took no notice of him as he awkwardly shuffled through the labyrinth that was Krakenburg’s prison. By the time he reached the familiar, narrow passageway he was looking for, Jakob had sweat through his undershirt completely and was itching to put his tailcoat into the wash.

He nearly walked past Shura’s cell, his peripheral vision obscured by the too-big steel helmet. Turning his whole body to face it, the butler found that the Hoshidan was very much awake, eyes drilling into the new face.

“You… you’re that butler,” he commented. “Had a feeling you’d be on your way. I haven’t seen that tall-dark-and-ugly mister around in ages. Guard’s lettin’ up, too…”

“You have a good eye,” retorted Jakob as he assessed the bars of the cell itself, not interested in small talk. “The door is…?”

Shura inhaled sharply. One of his hands gripped a bar as he heaved himself to his feet, wobbling as if they weren’t anything more than two twigs.

Jakob noticed this and raised an eyebrow. “You’re fit for an escape, are you not…?”

“I’m _fine,_ ” snarled the outlaw. “Been getting more exercise than usual, in fact, ever since your first visit. Six meters ain’t exactly a lot of room to train, though.” He gestured to the wall on Jakob’s left, where there was a small, metal panel with a slot for a key.

The butler reached for his waist, where a keyring hung he could only hope went to this section of cells. He’d haggled the nearby guard into passing them on to him, saying he’d take over his shift for the time being. Again, he eyed the frail Hoshidan behind the bars. Compared to his last visit, Shura, although his hair, face, clothes, _everything_ really was absurdly unkempt, seemed in much better health.

“You should exit the way you came. Into the Windmire underground city. That is the only task Lady Azura has instructed me with, for now.” Pulling another item from his pocket, the butler held out his hand to the prisoner, dropping a crumpled paper, damp with sweat, into his palm. “There’s instructions on how Lady Azura intends to contact you on this.”

The key clicked as it turned within the lock, and suddenly the eleven rusted iron bars holding Shura back all at once dropped into the slots in the ground below them. The clanging noise this caused might as well have been the roar of a wyvern, with how loud and piercing it was, bouncing excitedly across the dark cavern walls. Both men went rigid with fear.

“Shit.” Jakob met the Hoshidan’s anxious gaze again. “Go. I think taking this armor would only slow you down, would it not?”

Shura took three steps from his cell, looking ready to dart down the hallways and disappear for good, but he stopped, tossing back his head to glance at Jakob. His eyes were glossy in the torchlight.

 _Oh, boy,_ thought the butler. “Come now, I don’t need your thanks-“

“I’ll find a way to repay both of you. You have my word.”

With that, the white-haired fellow finally fled. Even after being locked up in a cell for an ungodly amount of years, his footsteps could not be heard over the crackling of the nearby brazier.

His task finished, Jakob headed back the way he came, pulling the helmet a little further down on his head and tucking the smooth braid of hair up into it.

_Right, then… this is only the beginning of things, I suppose._

 

-*-

 

“ _..._ _Flowing like time, the path is yours to climb..."_

Azura’s voice trembled in the air as she held the final note. How many times had she run the song, now…? She’d lost count. For a moment the songstress held her stance, mid-dance, one leg twisted before the other, hands held above her head, crossing at the elbow. She remained frozen for as long as possible until her body began to burn in protest, and all at once, she collapsed onto the floor like a deflated balloon. She found herself reaching for the bare spot on her neck, where her mother’s pendant had once hung.

 _Mother… am I doing the right thing? Ordering something like this?_ The question ate at her mind. _Should I be simply accepting life here, as you did? Accepting my place…? Corrin… what would you have wanted me to do about that girl, truly?_ Hot, frustrated tears escaped her eyes as she considered the potential consequences if anything were to go wrong today. _I’m committing treason against Nohr, aren’t I? I guess I have been ever since I first tried comforting her in that cell… Living here, it seems like my very existence in itself is traitorous, though. I'm bringing Jakob into this, as well..._

Outside, the guards shifted. The princess’s quiet sobs eventually relented, fading into shaky breaths, until her breathing became normal again and she was able to compose herself. Red light flooded the room as she meandered back over to her chair, signaling that somewhere far above the sun was on its way back towards the horizon. It warmed the air just slightly, and the princess allowed herself to relax. Dancing here had always been a struggle; there was not nearly enough room for her to execute each dip, turn, pivot, and pirouette properly, and the floor’s uneven tiles simply invited stubbed toes.

Bringing the file of symphony pieces back into her lap again, Azura read through the notes, humming here, singing there, until sleep coaxed her eyelids shut.

 

-*-

 

Jakob returned later, back in his usual garb. He had snuck into Clarkenstein’s servant quarters and used their washroom to clean himself up before circling back to Azura’s, so as to draw as little suspicion from Iago’s guards as possible (and to not burden his liege with any unpleasant smell.) Word had gotten out in no time of an escape – on the way back from the washroom, he’d seen it in the guard’s extra-tense expressions and frequent patrols, but it seemed as if the two elites at Azura’s door had not yet heard the news, as they didn’t attempt to question the butler or bar his way when he approached.

When Jakob spotted the princess slouched over in her chair, chest slowly rising and falling, he made an effort to be gentle in closing the bulky door. He took note of the girl’s frizzed hair and reddened eyes. She certainly had willpower, but not as much as she’d thought, apparently.

The butler fetched a blanket from her bed chamber and spread it from one arm of the chair to the other. The good news could wait a few hours, he thought with a tired smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this was a bit fillery. There's some prep that has to happen before the ~big thing~ but I promise we'll get back to Corrin very soon. Azura has been hogging the spotlight, hasn't she? Haha.
> 
>  
> 
> -Other notes... if it wasn't clear, quite a bit of time passed between the last chapter and this one. Like, maybe a few months?
> 
> -What else... Corrin is more or less unreachable now, so Lilith hasn't been bringing her to the astral plane and coaxing her out of it since she was brought to the Northern Fortress. 
> 
> -She's very stuck on the Xander = Garon thing, which is why there's no way he's going to be able to get her to listen to him. Since manaketes or w/e are a step above your average wyvern in the intelligence department, I don't think Garon wants Xander to just flat out subjugate Corrin, it's more that he wants to brainwash/train/whatever her into a war unit. It's not the best comparison, but sort of like a K-9 police dog, except without the "healthy treatment" part.
> 
> -Azura doesn't know about the whole "using a lake to go to Valla" thing in this. Even if she did, unless she slipped out on a vacation with Camilla, she wouldn't be able to use it.
> 
> -If you remember Laslow and Xander's supports, you might have an idea of what's going to happen next. haha


	15. Those Born of Conquest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Xander and a force of Nohrians confront a reported Hoshidan invasion at the border.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or: xander gets fucking owned

The land surrounding the fissure known as the Bottomless Canyon was nothing less than treacherous. Smaller crevices – relevant to the canyon itself, but enormous on their own, many six times as wide across as a man was tall – broke off to either side of it, as if the earth itself was crumbling apart at this one seam. Horses had to be given special training to climb the terrain surrounding the canyon, so Nohrian forces that ventured too close were almost all footsoldiers and wyvern riders. The ground rose and fell as it pleased, sheets of hard stone rising abruptly in the middle of the path to the divide only to be split by fissures another twenty meters ahead. Further out from the canyon, massive mountains, stripped bare of life and soil by the harsh weather that passed through these parts, jutted up from the ground, making travel even more difficult and forming yawning valleys full of rubble and bones. To top things off, the wind was harsh, and a constant lightning storm seemed to hang over the region, making even the bravest cavalier lower his halberd as he marched.

Xander had vivid memories of stories told by his father during his childhood about the region; that the messy, nonsensical collection of rock was mashed together by one of the First Dragons, while it was still a curious whelp, unaware of its powers. Later on, he learned of other legends Nohrians told about the canyon; the land was as misshapen as it was because it was where the Dusk and Dawn dragons had fought tremendous battles, before they had taken to using humans to act out their quarrels.

Due to the region’s unsavory conditions, defending the assortment of bridges that served as a border between Hoshido and Nohr was difficult. It had been the main source of smaller invasions over the years, or so they thought. Security at the port cities and the Cyrkensia and Cheve borders was tight, nearly entirely closed off to Hoshidans, but the Bottomless Canyon crossover, though treacherous, was poorly defended. If someone were to pass by the main guard post, they ultimately would have access to all of Nohr without many further troubles, aside from the initial trek out of the mountain range.

The bridges were monitored remotely. Daniela, now Nohr’s chief border guard, used Faceless to block off entry – that way they wouldn’t have to be delivered supplies or checked on, and if one of them were to die of exhaustion, electrocution, or fall into a fissure, another could simply be resummoned and stationed there. Cheap, and efficient, save for the ninja that occasionally snuck past – but they were a constant thorn in Nohr’s side, coming from both the canyon and the sea, and Garon had come up with other ways of sniffing them out before they could do real damage.

But that was what didn’t make sense about this invasion. _Ninja_ could slip past a rickety old bridge and a few mindless sorcerer’s minions. But a Hoshidan force of this size?

According to the briefing Xander had been given between his trip from the Northern Fortress and his meeting with the rest of the army, in the past four days the Hoshidans had slaughtered the Faceless, crossed the border in large numbers, and then continued into the mountains, crushing any defense that the nearby outposts had mustered. It held every sign of an all-out invasion.

Their party, consisting largely of castle officials such as Iago, Daniela, and Gunter, had been split into three sections; one remained at the foot of the mountain range to ensure that the Hoshidans did not escape further inland, another was to venture deep into the range towards the canyon, and the last, made up entirely of wyvern units, were to patrol the harsh skies above the peaks for any signs of the enemy army. The three would communicate through this group as well, with two wyvern-riding messengers assigned to make rounds between the groups and communicate orders.

Xander and his siblings had arrived just as the plan was being put into action. Camilla, of course, was assigned to the sky force, Xander to the inner force, and Leo and Elise to stay behind and guard the valley – Elise because she was hardly suited to hike into the relentless mountain peaks, and Leo to work with a group of elite mages scrying the surrounding valleys for the Hoshidans.

“…The soldiers at the outposts near the foot of the mountains were beaten to a pulp when they tried to launch a counter-offensive,” said Xander’s retainer, tossing her braid over her shoulder as they continued up the gravely path. “One of the guardsmen came down to meet us, before you arrived. He said he wasn’t able to estimate how many there were, but that it definitely was more than just ninja. …Not like these dull guardsman would even be able to spot a ninja, if one were to stand before his eyes.”

“Now, now. We mustn’t look down upon them because they’re lowborn. _Someone_ needs to work these miserable outposts all the way out here,” said his other retainer, wryly.

Xander felt a warmth in his chest at their familiar voices and small talk. It was something he hadn’t realized he’d missed, being stationed at the Northern Fortress. Though they treated him with utmost respect, being the prince he was, they weren’t afraid of him, either. He relished in this openness, even if he himself didn’t participate in it. It was comforting.

“Hmm. I suppose I shouldn’t talk down upon them around you of all people, who is about to be wed to one…” muttered the older woman, casting a knowing smirk over to the short retainer on Xander’s left.

The fighter turned away. “He isn’t lowborn, he just isn’t a noble. So set in your old ways… There’s more than two classes, now.” Jutting out his chin, he added, “That isn’t what’s important, anyways.”

The woman’s face softened. “Perhaps you should abandon work as a retainer and join him there, then.” Her eyes trailed to the ground ahead, where a large fissure lay – the long line of soldiers was moving to swerve around it. Further up, the highest peaks loomed over them; the canyon wasn’t far now – soon they’d be turning around and beginning their descent. “War takes lives, after all. It’s been quaint the past few years, and especially so recently with Lord Xander being away, but if whatever _this_ situation here was was to escalate, you may be in it for the long run, my friend.”

Xander frowned. Hailing from Cheve, the older woman had seen much in her lifetime; her father, he believed, had been a royal retainer who fell in the war, her mother and husband meeting the same fate more recently. She was lucky, he supposed, that she’d landed the position she had, cushioned behind the crown prince and the elite royal guardsmen. But it was only natural to be wary.

The fighter frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I cannot abandon Lord Xander’s side. My duty as a retainer comes before all else. I know that – we do, the both of us.”

Xander did not mind. He wanted to tell his retainer that. His father undoubtedly had plenty of other candidates lined up, that were qualified in his eyes, at least – that wasn’t to say that his current retainers were the least bit replaceable in the prince’s eyes. No, undoubtedly the more noble way to serve his country was not to abandon his position. It was foolish to think otherwise – and yet the prince still wanted to put his retainer’s worries at ease. He held his tongue.

The party, of around two-hundred elite soldiers, wriggled its way up the mountain path. Leading it, surrounded by heavy-plated generals, was Daniela. Soon, the land evened out and the gaping, black gorge of the Bottomless Canyon came into view. High above, thunder roared and bolts of lightning tumbled between clouds, not quite distant enough to allow the Nohrian soldiers to be at ease. Moving along the hillside, they were eventually called to a halt by the border guard’s captain, and all at once they turned to address the scene before them.

Sure enough, the massive, muscled forms of the Faceless – some twenty or thirty – lay sprawled across the ground near the canyon, unmoving, covered in gouges filled with dried blood. Despite their unnatural appearance, nature had already begun taking its course even in the desolate, lifeless environment; when Xander peered close enough he could make out squirming maggots within the deep lance wounds in their flesh, and the occasional crow or vulture would swoop down to assess the mess, only to be spooked off by the Nohrian guards bumbling about.

Sure enough, the wounds were caused by Hoshidan weapons. Along with the all-too familiar nicks and stabs of shurikens – some still lobbed into the Faceless’s bodies – there were signs of naginata jabs, and neat, thin, long-running slices that only katanas would make – not messy enough to be caused by a Nohrian sword. Some of the Faceless helmets were outright bashed in, as well, no doubt the work of the primitive clubs many Hoshidans specialized in. Here and there, even, were long, bamboo arrows shot by the yumi.

To many of the soldier’s curiosity, there were visible Faceless bodies on the other side of the canyon, too.

After putting in orders to resummon a Faceless group three times the size of the one that had been present, Daniela called for the army to loop back down the mountainside.

 

-*-

 

A hush fell over the soldiers as they made their way between the jagged peaks. The prince’s brow was furrowed beneath his helmet. If it came to all-out war with Hoshido… would Garon begin an offensive? Despite the barrier still present in Hoshido? His jaw clenched, Xander’s thoughts returned to the uncooperative dragon in the Northern Fortress. Even more pressure could be put on him to progress with the training – or even worse, Garon could simply deploy it into combat and see for himself what a failure the prince had been in his task.

The path rapidly began to narrow and steepen, with a drop-off into a deep crag waiting on their left side, and a steep cliff rising up to their right. Far ahead of them, the land opened up before the troops, revealing an expansive grassy plateau – one of the few spots in the border region that showed any signs of plant life. Due to the weather, it was uninhabitable for long periods of time, but was perhaps one of the only places one might set up an overnight camp close to the border. If the Hoshidans were still alive someplace in the mountains, chances were they’d be around this place. Here and there rested ruined forts, their structure eaten away at by both weather and time, offering very little protection from the mountain’s harsh winds. It had to be at least a mile ahead of them still, but it was a sign that they were nearing civilization again.

 Caught up by the view of the vista below them, Xander did not notice the number of heads raising up to the sky until he picked up on the leathery flapping of wings.

A wyvern. One of the messengers that carried word from one army to the other.

The rider still had to be a great distance away, but she was descending towards the army, and Daniela called for them to halt upon the treacherous switchbacks.

At his side, the prince’s retainers pressed closer, and he let out an exasperated sigh at their protectiveness. He wasn’t so dull as to slip and fall – even then there were plenty of armored guards to cushion him. Again his eyes rose to the crackling skies, looking for the silhouette of that wyvern rider… and then something strange occurred.

There was a crash of lightning closeby, making everyone flinch, their gazes moving to the nearest peak to be sure no rockslide had been sparked to life by it. At the same time, he thought he picked up on another strange noise, almost like a horn being blown, but it was much too brief to tell. When Xander looked back again at the wyvern, however… it was… _falling?_

Tensing, the prince furrowed his brow. Around him, other soldiers followed his pointed gaze. The silhouette was definitely plummeting at an alarming rate, and not in any formation that Xander had ever seen a wyvern dive in – not that they tended to dive, anyway, being heavy, densely-built beasts. When it slowly turned in its descent so its belly was up, and a smaller silhouette separated from its back, the prince knew something was wrong, felt his stomach twist.

Pointing at the display, he said, voice controlled, “The rider… The rider is falling.”

Gasps scattered through the crowd. “Was she struck by the lightning…?” Came a few mutters.

That couldn’t have been right; the prince, and he was certain everyone else, had heard the blast come from off to their right. The rider was far in front of them, just slightly to the left of their field of vision, plummeting down towards the plains.

“Enough; these are treacherous conditions for even the most skilled wyvern trainers. Casualties are to be expected. We continue our march, faster now that we no longer have a way of communicating with the others,” announced Daniela, irritated.

The rest of the troops reluctantly continued, forced to watch one of their own fall to her death.

Something felt incredibly off to the prince. He could not shake the feeling, and gave up trying to relate it to the fact that he was back with an army after nearly a year of isolation. As if fueled by the tension filling the air, the lightning above them picked up, even as they descended in elevation.

They’d hardly begun their march again when it started.

The path only fit some four-wide, so the army itself stretched back quite a ways; that is where the first yells erupted from, louder and more jarring than any nearby strike of lightning.

_“Enemy attack!”_

Xander twisted around, every muscle in his body tensing. Red eyes narrowed as he made out Hoshidan colors among the spikes of gray; though their numbers seemed slim from afar, he was certain it was only because of the narrow ground in which both armies occupied. He heard Daniela bark out a command; “…On the defensive! Prepare for an attack!”

 _Damn it…!_ The conditions couldn’t have been worse, thought the prince as he reached for his sword. Even being downwind from the Hoshidans, their movements had not been detected… and now they were in too-close quarters, with nowhere to run but forwards, like a stampede. Xander hadn’t a chance of fighting them close-quarters like this; rows upon rows of Nohrian soldiers stood between him and the Hoshidan army itself.

For a moment, silence swept across the valley, with even the storm blazing far above them quieting itself; then, there was whistling, just barely audible…

“ _Arrows! Take cover!”_

Instinctively, Xander’s shield arm rose above his head, and for once he was grateful for his helmet. The whistling grew in volume until the shower of arrows collided with steel. He gritted his teeth as he felt the heads impact his shield. A few grunts came from around him, but when he lowered the object the bulk of their army appeared unharmed.

When his eyes rose to the ascending path again, however, the Hoshidans had begun moving. Running, as fast as their lightweight armor allowed them to, in rows of five, with three spear-masters in the lead. At the highest switchback, to which Xander had to crane his neck to see, yumi-wielding archers had formed a line and were readying another set of arrows.

Not prepared for such an offensive – the rear guard, Xander believed, consisted of heavy-plated generals and unmounted dark knights, though the ranks had mixed together before their descent – the Nohrians looking the onslaught in the eyes began to turn and urge their comrades forward. Time seemed to slow as the Hoshidans closed in, with more and more rows of the white-clad warriors appearing from beyond the bend in the mountain path, and chaos unfolded amongst the prince’s men.

“Retreat to the meadows! Mages, assist in defending the rear guard!” Daniela called out, before scurrying down the remainder of the path in a flurry of black feathers. Row by row, the army followed, Xander and his retainers struggling not to get trampled by those behind them.  Again, he glanced over his shoulder; the Hoshidans were nearly upon them now, not having slowed the slightest. Dark mages and knights had gathered themselves and were fervently casting spells of lightning and ice their way so as to slow the pursuit. One or two of the spearmen fell to the hasty defense, but the rest collided with the Nohrian rear guard, maneuvering past whatever weapons they’d brought up in defense and running them down with ease.

Looking again to the path ahead, Xander found that they’d almost reached the plain. The fissure on their right cut off, unstable, gravelly ground giving way to dry, knee-high grass, and the land opened up around them, allowing for the Nohrians to regroup and assemble a proper defensive formation. The prince hurried to Daniela’s side; she was desperately crying out orders, her hands swinging about as if she were casting a spell.

“Commander Daniela. The defense – I can take command if you’d like…” he began, racking his brain for any sort of plausible counter to this kind of assault.

“If these Hoshidan scum wish to fight honorlessly, so be it – _I_ can do the same.” She gestured to the cliff they had been riding against, which now towered over the second half of the Nohrian army, along with the force of Hoshidans. Lighting flashed furiously above it. “That will do nicely. I will have every mage available assemble with me here; you should hold the chokepoint and prevent the Hoshidans from penetrating the plains until our spell is ready.”

The prince’s eyes widened. “You plan to cause a rockslide…?!”

Daniela’s head snapped around and she cast him a wicked glare – something an underling of the King wouldn’t have dared to do under normal circumstances. “Would you rather gamble like this, cut off from the rest of our army, when half of us are unmounted and the other are going to be injured or _dead_ by the time they reach the plains?”

Xander only frowned. “Very well.”

 

-*-

 

With every minute that passed after the messenger sent for Xander’s army was set to return, more and more concern filled Camilla’s chest, to the point where even Beruka spoke up.

“…Is something disturbing you, my lady…?” muttered the girl, as monotonous as ever. She brought her wyvern to a steady glide beside Camilla’s.

“She hasn’t returned, yet,” stated the princess almost immediately. “The messenger.”

“…That is correct,” replied Beruka, awkwardly.

Below them, the gray peaks stretched as far as the eye could see, strange and empty from a bird’s-eye view. It was as if she was looking down on the surface of the moon. Marzia rumbled, apparently anxious as well.

“The time limit is five minutes, isn’t it…? In that case we should have turned around by now-“

“ _Halt!_ ” came a cry from above the two, followed by a blow of a horn that signaled to the other riders they were stopping. The commander. “ _It has been five minutes since a messenger was due to return. We will now backtrack and investigate this, as protocol states._ ” Two more blasts of the horn then sounded off, and all at once the flock of wyverns swerved around, traveling back toward where they’d broken off from the communications unit.

Camilla only prayed they would run into her on the way back, alive and well, and that nothing worse had happened. On her left, Beruka urged her smaller beast as close to Camilla’s side as Marzia would allow.

 

-*-

 

They were being pushed back.

Xander was anxious. Moreso than he had been in any other battle. Off his game – being away for so long, perhaps, had done that for him. Siegfried hummed in his grip – it, at least, was behaving. But it _wasn’t enough._ Nothing he did seemed to be enough. And without his horse, he was at a disadvantage.

The Hoshidans pushed and pushed and pushed, at an advantage due to both their speed and their possession of higher ground. The archers in particular were relentless, and there was no way for the Nohrians to reach them and take them out. Letting your guard down the slightest meant getting an arrow through your shoulder or skull. In their unprepared state, Xander and his guard were unable to stop the most agile of the Hoshidans from slipping behind them and weakening their wall, until finally the white-clad foreigners gained full access to the plains.

Summoning up his voice, Xander called for everyone to fall back and position themselves around the mages, who had hidden themselves in a ruined battlement a couple dozen meters inland. To bide them more time, he then hastily ducked to the ground – his retainers knowingly covering his back – and, weaving one hand beneath the strands of grass onto the cold soil, searched for a dragon vein. They were distant – there were better positions in the plains to activate one, but he didn’t have time for that – but present nonetheless. Struggling to focus his mind in the buzzing mess around him, Xander reached for it, feeling a tingling sensation in his fingertips…

…

…and, in a neat line between the Nohrians and Hoshidans, a fissure exploded open. It widened far enough that not even the ninja could chance jumping it, and dazed the enemy army, allowing his a moment to retreat and regroup.

The battlement was tiny – perhaps the size of a cottage, the roof long destroyed, exposing the circle of mages within to the snipers far beyond. His heart pounding, Xander rallied the remaining Nohrians, who appeared just as discouraged as he was by the huge loss in ranks. Though many of the Hoshidans had been struck down or injured, due to their strangely desperate demeanor many were still putting up a fight. Like cornered animals…. More like bandits than warriors.

“…This is what we’ve prepared for,” shouted the prince, standing tall as the wind whipped his cape out behind him. His retainer passed him a Nohrian standard, her wrinkled lips curving into a smile. Xander took the banner and raised it high. “For the sake of our country, we cannot allow them to progress any further. For the Dusk Dragon, my father the King, and for the glory of Nohr!”

“ _For the glory of Nohr!”_ cheered the soldiers, their eyes shining with renewed energy.

Xander turned on the oncoming force and rose Siegfried high. _I’ve been given another opportunity to lead again. I will not waste it._

 

-*-

 

“What… in the world…?”

Camilla normally refrained from speaking too much while in flight; there was the risk of biting your tongue should your wyvern encounter a gust, and aside from that it was hard to make yourself heard, as the wind could whisk your voice away as soon as it left your mouth. But the sight before her was so jarring that the words simply slipped out.

Marzia shifted her wings, slowing the descent Camilla and three dozen other wyvern units were making onto the gray-green plains below. It was clear where the battle was – or, had, taken place, given the Nohrian banners scattered across the ground and shining dark armor here and there. But much more eyecatching was the slew of shattered stone that spilled out from the valley pass into the plains like water through the delta of a river, obviously coming from the jagged, malformed cliff that loomed over the area itself. Her grip on her wyvern’s reins tightened and her mouth felt dry. _…Xander…?!_

The sight only got worse as she closed in. Signs of bodies were clear beneath the rubble – whose side they belonged to, she wasn’t certain. Wind blew up from the plains, carrying a familiar stench – smoke and death. Her eyes searched the land as she leaned over to Marzia’s side…

The wyvern landed gracefully beside a long-abandoned battlement, and Camilla jumped from the saddle immediately, not bothering to wait for her superiors to give a command or even for Beruka, who was trailing her. Panic like this… she had not felt in a while. Where… where was he?

It became obvious that the Nohrians were the last ones standing. That did little to relieve the princess of her stress, but it put the worst of her worries at ease, at least. Some forty soldiers were gathered around the front of the battlement. She ran to them immediately, shoving through them, eyes scanning and passing over every strained face.

Then, at last, she found her brother, leaning against the crumbling stone wall, a healer crouched at his side. He didn’t acknowledge Camilla's approach, his dark red eyes still trained on the remains of the rockslide behind them. Her gaze trailed downwards; the prince’s lower leg seemed... off, his ankle bent at a weird angle. A mix of blood and dirt coated his armor that’d looked as shining and new as always when last she’d seen him, and he hadn’t bothered to wipe any of it from his face, either. His right hand still clutched Siegfried; Camilla took note of how his left was trembling at his side.

Her steps slowed, apprehension replacing the anxiety in her chest. She glanced around, between the worn soldiers that’d made some distance between themselves and the crown prince, finding his retainers weren’t present.

They weren’t present, or…

Her eyes found Xander again. His expression didn’t change from its tense, fixated stare, except for when the medic pressed on his leg, making his eyelids twitch. Though most of the light had now faded from the sky, they seemed glossy. Camilla’s lips parted in surprise. _The… couldn’t have…?_

“…X-Xander?” she tried, pressing closer. “What…”

He wouldn’t meet her gaze, but he spoke, at least. “The Hoshidan invasion has been dealt with. We… suffered immense casualties due to a cowardly sneak attack, and my poor leadership – I wasn’t able to hold them off while Commander Daniela readied the landslide spell – “

Emboldened, Camilla marched up to her brother, grabbing hold of his shoulder. “Don’t say that. This is a dangerous passage, and from the looks of it the Hoshidans had this trap well-planned out...” A pressure built up in her chest at the sight of Xander like this, boiling frustration and fury… and when she thought about who it should truly be directed at, she almost held her tongue.

“…I don’t know why Father assigned such a small force to this task.  We weren’t even aware of how large the Hoshidan invasion force was. And with so many dismounted, as well, separated from the wyvern riders…” She said each word carefully, delicately, not wanting to be too direct with him. “I’m no tactician, but… It’s careless. And with you not being on the field for so long, too.”

“The fault is with me,” replied Xander, voice tight. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

Camilla’s eyes narrowed. Was he _really_ going to put it all on himself?! She knew her brother could sometimes be too hard on himself, but this was too far of a reach. “You weren’t even in charge of this mission, Xander. It was that mage Daniela. You held no more responsibility than any other soldier.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, and Camilla winced at how strained he sounded, as if he were about to be ill. Finally, his eyes landed on hers, Siegfried’s scarlet light glinting in them. “I had a responsibility to _them._ I wasn’t strong enough.” He was obviously making an effort to keep his voice down. His shoulders heaved with each shaky breath he took. Then he seemed to realize that he was losing his composure, and, like an oyster, clamped shut again, leaning back against the wall as the healer worked on his leg.

Overwhelmed by the emotions emanating from her brother, Camilla opted to inspect his injury instead. The medic had removed the plate below the knee and torn the bottom part of his legging as well, careful to not to disturb the prince too much. Bruises bloomed across the exposed skin, with his ankle in particular boasting the most swelling. She glanced at him again in question, but he didn’t offer an explanation. Huffing, Camilla instead directed her inquiry at the healer.

“T-the rockslide,” he murmured, like a child afraid of getting yelled at by their father. “We called for a retreat into the keep, but he wouldn’t stop fighting… he barely escaped it alive, I-I think. By a stroke of luck, only his leg was crushed.”

Camilla opened her mouth to scold Xander for his carelessness, but the prince spoke first. “Where is Father?”

“…He should be here soon,” muttered the princess in reply. He inhaled sharply through his nostrils, but whether it was from the healer poking at his leg or the mention of their father, Camilla wasn’t sure.

Feeling weary all of the sudden, the princess refrained from bothering her brother any more. She followed his gaze to the rubble – some of the huge stones lay in sheets across the plains, blood painted across their more jagged edges, others jutted out of the earth like shards of glass. The mage, Daniela, was responsible for this…? Wandering, the princess eventually came upon the woman in question. She was encircled by other sorcerers and high-ranking generals, but appeared completely unharmed, and spoke in an anxious tone. Camilla rolled her eyes. _Just_ try _explaining this mess to Father._

 

-*-

 

It wasn’t until the combined group of wyvern riders and footsoldiers reached the rendezvous point at the foot of the mountain range that they finally did see their father – he hadn’t journeyed up with the third group, instead opting to wait. Xander was given his horse, and for all his training to constantly appear composed and regal he rode it wearily, his back hunched over, eyes downcast. The rest of the survivors were merry enough, though, and would not stop speaking of how fantastic the rockslide had been, or how fierce their crown prince was in battle.

The rendezvous point was a small village nestled just below the least-intimidating of the peaks surrounding the Bottomless Canyon, beside the main road and full of villagers more than happy to offer their houses to soldiers in exchange for protection (many, many places in Nohr would not do the same.) It was well into the night, now, but the sky was unusually clear and patches of moonlight roamed the surrounding plains.

Waiting at the center of the village was the rest of the Nohrian army, who’d been patrolling the base area, with Garon, Iago, and Gunter at the head – the latter, according to Garon, being too old and weary to push himself up such a treacherous and taxing road to the canyon. Leo and Elise were nearby, as well – behaving, for once. They stared at their elder siblings as the envoy approached.

Daniela skittered ahead to debrief the king. She was visibly shaking under Garon’s gaze. Camilla wouldn’t be surprised if he simply rose his axe and lobbed off the mage’s head on the spot; it was her failure, after all, at the border. Even if they had pulled through in the end and eliminated all of the Hoshidans.

When the sorceress finished speaking, Garon addressed her mistakes… and then, to his children’s surprise, said, “…But it was a defense nonetheless. I will let your oversight slide, considering the Hoshidan scum are now dealt with.”

Camilla held back a sigh of relief.

“Father…”

…and she winced, as Xander stepped forwards from her right.

The air seemed to still, and the prince refused to meet their father’s eyes. Camilla wanted to slap him.

“Yes, Son?”

“I… I wasn’t able to sufficiently hold off the Hoshidans.” _Gods,_ what was he _saying?_ It was past feeling sorry for himself. It just didn’t make sense. “The blame for the number of losses we suffered is on my shoulders…”

Surely, Father wouldn’t actually scold him for something so trivial. Father of all people, despite his coldness, would recognize that Xander’s claim was irrational.

“Hmph. I’ll excuse your actions, for now. I hope you’re aware of how different the outcome might’ve been if your ‘training’ had made more progress, however.”

The princess struggled to remain composed. _What?_ Allowing him to take blame was one thing, but… now it was like rubbing salt in the wound. On the subject of wounds, the prince was visibly still in horrible condition, leaning against a crutch a medic had conjured up for him. Compared to the rows of clean, well-groomed knights standing before them that’d only patrolled the nearby villages, he looked as if he’d just fought a war on his own.

“I don’t see either of your retainers among the envoy,“ Garon noted after a pause. “I’ll assume I should be reassigning you new ones, then.”

Camilla’s stomach twisted. In her peripheral vision, she caught Iago’s lips curving up into a smug sneer.

“…Yes, Lord Father,” Xander replied, voice heavy with exhaustion. “They fell in the battle.”

“Very well. I will send word when I’ve made the necessary preparations. For now, you should start for the fortress immediately.” Though Garon perhaps sounded _more_ disinterested than he usually did, his words were stalwart and absolute, offering no opportunity for objection. “Camilla, Leo, Elise – return to the castle and continue your training. I will divide up a separate party to do a final sweep of the area…”

With that, Garon drifted off into other topics of discussion, addressing numerous parts of their army and giving new assignments. Tightening defense, cracking down on patrols… but Camilla, brimming again with anger at how coldly Xander was received, could not keep her voice contained.

“Father, _why?_ The least that could be done is to allow Xander to travel to the castle with us and stop by home before riding all the way back to that fortress.” Garon’s frigid gaze turning back on the young princess caused her to stiffen, but did not silence her entirely. “He’s injured and just lost his retainers. _Please,_ allow him to spend a little time with family-“

“ _Enough_ of this, girl!” snapped the king, jolting all four royals out of their gloom. “He is _crown prince_ and he will do as _I_ instruct. He’s been given a task to fulfill, and he will see it done. Do not pretend you know of the war as I do.” The man glowed with hostility for a moment more, before sinking back into his usual apathetic, indifferent demeanor as he continued with commanding the remaining guardsmen and commanders.

And so, the siblings gathered up their mounts in brutal silence, the night weighing down on them all the while. Together with a handful of escorts, they rode west of the village on the main road; the quiet was eventually broken by curious inquires of both Leo and Elise about the battle. Camilla answered them to the best of her ability, but Xander seemed to have run out of words. At last, as softer shades of blue and gray were rising from the horizon, the party of royals reached a fork in the main road, with the route they had initially taken down from the fortress veering off to the right and disappearing into patchy woods.

Camilla inspected Xander again, but didn’t find that anything was different except that his shoulders were a little more slumped from exhaustion. It would be days before any of them reached their own beds, but while she, Leo, and Elise would be home once more in Clarkenstein, surrounded by Windmire’s warm fires and the colorful, nostalgic halls of the royal castle, Xander would again be locked up in that dismal, gray fortress with a couple of guards and an insane dragon.

Ultimately, she realized… there was nothing more she could do about it.

So the three of them said their awkward goodbyes to the crown prince, who managed a smile before urging his horse up the northern road, escorts in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently the estate the siblings live in in windmire/krakenburg is specifically called "Clarkenburg"??  
> **** Edit!!! It's clarkenstein. weird name either way. Thank you sm for that correction though lmao
> 
> And yes, there was a reason why a bunch of Hoshido guys just ran across the border despite it being suicide. I don't think anyone (in the story) put the pieces together though, at least not yet.
> 
>  
> 
> hopefully (H o p efully) the next chap will come into existence faster than this one did with all its revisions, because it's going to be a scene I've been planning since I started writing this fic.


	16. Recuperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander recovers from the loss of his retainers; the Northern Fortress's maids contemplate their loyalties.

_“You!”_

Twisted fingers took hold of the collar of Azura’s night gown and she was roughly pushed against the stone wall of her room. Towering over her was Iago, his visible eye sunken and ringed in purple, the pupil shining furiously.

Azura, despite having just been jolted awake by her door being slammed open, met his anger with a blank gaze.

“You had something to do with this, didn’t you, wench? Freeing the man who tried to _steal_ you away all those years ago?” He pushed again, ramming her shoulders into the wall. Azura’s jaw tightened.

“I had nothing to do with his escape. Why would I willingly free a man who intends on kidnapping me? My life here may be unpleasant, but I would much prefer it than being sold into one of Nohr’s human trafficking rings,” retorted Azura, voice wavering. It was most certainly a lie – she’d often fantasize about being stolen away from the castle and given more of a chance at life and freedom, or perhaps getting ‘lost’ on one of her excursions with Camilla. But she’d known this kind of situation would come sooner or later, and by now she knew Iago well enough to predict what words he’d spit into her face.

The sorcerer sneered. “So he could _whisk_ you away to Hoshido, that’s why. But you’re wrong to think they would treat you well there… A Nohrian princess?” He grinned, now. His teeth were set in crooked rows, yellowed slightly, perhaps either by tea, a side-effect of practicing the dark arts, or just bad hygiene. “If they didn’t maim you immediately, perhaps they’d put your body on display before burning you to death. They have no sympathy for a piece of trash like you, the daughter of _that_ whore.”

Beyond them, two of Iago’s guards peeked inside. “M-my lord…”

He whirled around. “ _What?!”_

“With all due respect, my lord.. I do believe your search may be misguided. On the day of the incident, we were posted here the entire time – the lady did not leave her chambers once,” offered the man, legs shaking in his boots.

Iago dropped Azura and stalked over to his guard. “You can’t be certain of that. She could have easily slipped through the window without your knowledge.”

The guard bowed his head lower. “Nearly the entire day, she was humming or singing. Unless she snuck someone else into her room in her place, I’m certain she did not leave, milord. I mean you no disrespect.”

Scowling, Iago looked from the man to Azura, and for a moment the princess though that he’d vaporize the two of them right there purely out of frustration.

“Her butler, however, did stop by. Erm, mayhaps they spotted him in the dungeons…”

This seemed to satisfy Iago. He threw one more glare at the princess before storming off, his guard on his heels.

Azura sighed, smoothing out her gown.  _Jakob… I only hope you covered your tracks well enough._

 

-*-

 

The trip back to the Northern Fortress went by in a blur. Xander rode far ahead of the rest of his escort, leg throbbing dully, not caring if he were to be ambushed by bandits. To make things even more dreary, the rainy season had settled over eastern Nohr, and getting soaked through to the bone was unavoidable. If anything, he was grateful for the weather, to wash off the blood that still sat in the crevices of his plate armor.

They stopped only when they reached villages, staying in the best quality inns they could find. Xander would eat a feeble amount of food, then retreat to a bedroom and suffer through a restless, fitful night of sleep. Before dawn, then, their party would set off again; the days were short, and they wished to take advantage of whatever feeble amount of light managed to brighten Nohr’s heavy cloud ceiling. He drifted off atop his horse more than a few times, snapped back awake only by the rush of nearly falling to the ground.

At last, the northern mountains made themselves seen on the storming horizon, just past the barren plains that stretched out beyond Windmire, which was somewhere off to their left. The sight drew a sigh from the prince. When they were close enough to the mountain pathway, the escort parted ways with him, curving back around to make for the capital.

 

-*-

 

Xander soon came to regret his carelessness in the days after the battle; as if his leg alone wasn’t crippling enough, a vicious fever came over him as well on his third night back at the fortress, confining him to his chambers.

“I-it’s already warm!” lamented Felicia, pulling the wet cloth off of the half-conscious prince’s forehead and holding it up to Flora. “T-this is bad…! Flora! What if he _dies?_ If the crown prince dies, w-we’ll…”

Flora snapped the cloth out of her sister’s hand, grabbing hold of the panicking girl’s wrist with her other. “Felicia – calm down. We can handle this.”

“B-but!” The pink-haired maid gestured to Xander with her free hand. He’d collapsed a few hours ago, on his way up to his quarters from dinner, and if it hadn’t been for the sword he was carrying making a racket as it clanged down the stairs, no one probably would’ve found him until they did a routine patrol of the upper spires. Now, he lay face-up in bed, drenched in sweat and hot to the touch. His face was twisted in pain, and for some reason he kept wanting to move around, so it took a lot of repeated “Please hold still and rest, Prince Xander!”’s from the sisters to get him to stay in place.

“If… what if this is our fault? F-for not keeping it tidy enough in here?” Felicia began biting her fingernails as Flora knelt down and dropped the cloth into the wash-bin sitting at the prince’s bedside. It was full to the brim of cold water, along with more rags.

“Felicia, you need to focus. Look at him – what do you think standing around and crying is going to accomplish?” chided Flora as she squeezed the water out of a cloth, her voice sharper this time. “The consequences will be _much_ worse if we don’t take care of him.”

Felicia was about to speak up again, but Flora stood and shushed the girl, pressing a finger against her lips. “Enough! Here’s the next one. Keep doing this – I’m going to go search the medicine supply.” With that, she tossed the rag at her sister before storming off.

 

-*-

 

When Flora finally returned, it was late into the night. She had an armful of various satchels and boxes, along with a tray of tea that smelled absolutely rancid. Her expression was so intense that it looked like she’d just passed through a warzone.

Felicia’s eyes flicked away from the huge puddle sitting on the ground next to the suspiciously-full water basin. Flora read the guilt on her sister’s face and came to a conclusion in a split second. “You knocked the bucket over?”

“It was an accident, I turned around and I wasn’t watching where I was going…”

“Felicia…!”

“I-I refilled it, so it should be fine! Let’s just focus on the medicine!” she cried, standing up and nearly tripping on the object again.

As the sisters sorted through the medicines and concocted what they thought might be a brew of tea to help bring the fever down, a thought occurred to them. They didn’t dare voice it, but between the glances they gave each other it was clearly communicated.

This was a perfect opportunity.

Aside from the guards, there was no one left to keep tabs on their whereabouts. The prince was completely out of it, and wouldn’t be able to put together a search party – nevermind mount his horse and go after them himself – in days. Sure, the two would be executed if they let the prince die… but if they weren’t here in the first place, they couldn’t be arrested.

What would they do, though, thought Flora. Where would they go? The Ice Tribe was behind held in the palm of the Nohrian empire’s iron fist, able at any given moment to be crushed into shards. Even if they defected to Hoshido, everyone they knew back home would likely either be slaughtered, or subjugated the rest of their lives. It was cowardly. And what of their friends back at the castle? Both maids got through the day with the hope of seeing not only their family and tribe, but Jakob and Princess Azura again, along with the other less-respected Nohrians that ever showed them kindness.

No, fleeing wasn’t a choice, not even in a situation as inviting as this… So the sisters locked away their bitterness and hatred for the Nohrian crown, and instead dropped into their usual motions as maids. The suffering prince before them was not what drove them to care for him with such urgency, but rather it was the thought of seeing their father and people again someday, and being able to ensure their smiles – always more warming than any fire in the cold wastelands they called home.

 

-*-

 

The prince of Nohr wasn’t sure of the hour when consciousness came to him. It was a nauseating feeling, as if some constricting ooze had filled his skull and put intense pressure on his head until he was snapped awake. He took more than a few minutes to gather himself, for reality to sink in. How long had he been lying in bed? He felt disgusting. Without thinking to call the maids, he numbly slid his legs from beneath the covers and planted them on the ground. The stone tiles were frigid against his hot skin and sent a feverish shiver up his spine.

Keeping one hand on his nightstand to steady himself, Xander tested his balance, standing partway up. Everything seemed to be cooperating, so, carefully, he staggered his way over to the washroom on the other side of his bedchambers.

Around him, everything seemed wavy and blurry. The windows were black – that told him it was at least night, or very early in the morning. It felt more like his room had been suspended in space. Groaning, he moved his gaze from the windows and back to the washroom, which was lit by two lanterns that hooked off of the wall.

Immediately, his hands reached for the sink, cranking the faucet so that water began dribbling out. It was cold as ice. He inhaled sharply as he splashed some of it on his face, then continued to do so for some time, at least until he felt less like he was a doll filled with stuffing and more like a waking, living human.

After watching the water run into the drain for a short time, he finally turned it off and forced his back to straighten again. The movement brought back all sorts of aches. In the dim light the lanterns provided, he realized he was staring at his own reflection in the looking glass.

 _Gods._ Had he ever looked more disheveled? The image of Prince Xander was nowhere to be found in the folds and layers of shadow that cloaked the washroom. The boy standing there just looked like an empty husk of a person, skin pale and slick with sweat, back hunched over, shoulders slumped, hair going in every direction, heavy bags sitting under blank eyes. He wasn’t even wearing his crown. Xander didn’t know who this person was. He blinked, hard, his eyelids searing hot. When he opened them again, there was someone else hiding in the mirror, candlelight splashing over his face. His heart leapt into his throat. His father had entered the room, faded skin and vacant eyes staring straight into Xander’s.

In an instant, heat spread across his skin and he lost his balance.

 

-*-

 

A loud thud made Lilith snap awake. She’d been dozing just outside the door to the crown prince’s quarters, assigned there by Flora, who, along with her sister, had retreated to their rooms to try and get at least a few feeble hours of sleep. The blue-haired girl’s duties were usually restricted to caring for the horses and general maintenance along the castle grounds, along with feeding Corrin (not like she could get into the cage and transport the girl to the safety of the astral realm as she used to, the bars were just barely close enough together to bar her entry even in her dragon form.) She rarely was given the opportunity to get close to the prince – not like she wanted to, anyway.

The girl slipped into his room, finding that he was no longer tucked away in bed. Suppressing a yawn, her eyes then caught on the washroom – the door was open, and just inside she spied a foot lying beyond the wall.

Her eyebrows rose when she stepped past the doorway. He looked _terrible_ , passed out on the floor, head drenched with water. Lilith simply stood there for a moment, staring down upon the prince with disgust. The reason Corrin was locked in this fortress; the source of all her problems. Or, perhaps she was being too hard on him – the real source was his father, the man he so strongly resembled, but whether Prince Xander was just another pawn or not didn’t matter. He was complacent, and Lilith’s heart burned with a protective fury at the sight of him here before her, lying pathetically on the floor, as if begging for her sympathy, which she, in her position, was supposed to give him. Her fists clenched at her side, balling up fabric of the apron she wore atop her uniform.

It would be so easy to kill him right here, she thought. To take a knife, or any of the many weapons decorating the walls of this dismal fortress, and deal a fatal blow to the kingdom’s mightiest soldier, let him bleed out in his own quarters. She didn’t even need to do it herself – just leaving him here might be enough to have him die of fever. Flora and Felicia would not wake for some time yet. It would cripple the Nohrian army. She could take Corrin and run away – Hoshido seemed to be the best option. If her former ‘family’ would not accept her, Lilith would simply find somewhere else for them to live out their lives within the more stable nation, for Corrin to regain her senses, and they could survive in peace the rest of their days, free from Anankos’s captivity. Her fingers twitched with anticipation at the thought.

Lilith closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. No… she would not act that way. It was her father’s way – killing without concern for others. Selfish. What of the people that would be affected by the crown prince’s death? Not just his family, but the Nohrians themselves. Pawn or not, he was a figurehead. And he would succeed his father – that was the important part… if Anankos did not succeed himself, that is, in destroying both kingdoms. It was laughable to think he wouldn’t… but that wasn’t any of Lilith’s concern, right now. Reality set in; getting to Hoshido would be impossible, anyway. Nohr already had tight enough security. Should the prince be assassinated, things would escalate.

Sighing, she shifted her skirts as she knelt down and began tending to the unconscious man. Aside from his burning head, it seemed some of his wounds from whatever battle he’d attended had reopened, blood slowly spreading in spots across his shirt and pants. He clearly shouldn’t have been moving. Fetching a needle, the maid made quick work of the worst of them, tightening the ones that needed stitches and wrapping another layer of bandages around any others.

When finished, Lilith stood again and eyed him up and down. She certainly didn’t have the physical prowess to easily lift him back to his bed (the only one that could, aside from one of the guards, perhaps, was Felicia). No, her power had rested in magic, at least back when she was in Valla – outside of that world even that had been weakened. So, begrudgingly, the maid dragged the prince back to the side of his bed, resting his back up against the side, before plopping back onto the ground to take a breather.

Again, as her yellow eyes found him, Lilith contemplated killing the prince. She felt nothing for who would be left hurt by his death. Nohr could burn to the ground, and the maid thought she probably wouldn’t feel a thing, besides, perhaps, joy. It was only out of the idea that she _should_ care, and that people’s lives _would_ be ruined, that she didn’t. It might cause her father to have to change his plans, he might even send someone after her for meddling, but in the end the destruction it would cause would only benefit him.

Anankos… was it even possible to stop him? All she could do was take Corrin as far away from him as she could.

Suddenly, her expression hardened, breath catching in her throat.

No – it wasn’t possible. It took enough of his power just to possess and influence one person… one dead person, at that. He couldn’t…

Yet, the crown prince was a direct descendant of Garon; his dragon blood made him susceptible on its own, but that combined with how he’d been isolated up in this fortress, how his will had gradually seemed to be crumbling… Would her father do such a thing? Control both the king and the prince? For what purpose? Her jaw clenched as she forced herself to take a deep breath. What if this sudden illness was just a warning sign, a symptom of his influence?

Lilith brought a hand to her forehead, running it through her bangs and over the small red stone that rested beneath them. No, that wouldn’t be possible, not here. Whatever magical barrier had been cast over the fortress grounds, to prevent scrying, intrusion, and detection, it put a damper on _all_ magic. Even her abilities as an astral dragon, coming from a school she was sure that whoever cast this spell was not familiar with. To reach out of Valla was hard enough for Anankos, but this particular pocket would be near-impossible to breach, especially when he was already expending so much of his power on the king. Even if the prince had been reached when he was outside the castle grounds, her father’s power would be expelled once he reentered the fortress walls.

But it was still a thought that brought her intense discomfort. In the end, the Nohrians were not their greatest threat. What else did her father have planned…?

Suddenly exhausted, Lilith staggered over to the prince and began the process of trying to lift his large form onto the bed.

 

-*-

 

For a number of days, Flora and Felicia scurried in and out of Xander’s quarters, their ice magic perhaps the only thing keeping his head from boiling and killing him. And despite the unpleasantness of the situation, he found it almost favorable to venturing outside and facing the dragon again, falling into that hopeless daily routine.

But with all of the Ice Tribe sibling’s hard work, the prince did get well, the gears in his mind slowly beginning to turn again.

He had barely recovered when King Garon ordered him back to Krakenburg. A small tournament was being held to find the crown prince a new retainer, the message had read. Stronger than the excitement to be home again was his dread that he’d have to confess to being bedridden out of his own lack of care for himself, slacking on his duties, and face his father’s wrath.

But when he arrived in the throne room, leaning awkwardly onto a crutch,  sweat still sticking to his forehead, the king did not inquire about the dragon.

Things seemed to happen before Xander could process them. He was taunted by Iago, noticed Azura from afar as their escort made its way through the castle to the tourney grounds, spied a few other soldiers he’d known lingering in the banquet rooms… then they emerged at their booth in the arena, concealed by heavy violet curtains, with a clear view of the battleground below. For the first time in years, Xander took a seat beside his father, and he struggled to keep his gaze directed forwards at the arena. He felt like a boy again, but the feeling was not heartwarming. It was strange, surreal; the presence to his right did not feel like his father, not in the least. It felt foreign and raised the hairs on his neck, and for much of the tournament Xander was too distracted even to pay attention to the fighters – not like they would matter until the later rounds. His heart pounded in his chest as his anxiety spiked, emotions playing across his face, until Iago finally spoke.

“You should pay good attention, boy, else you make a wrong choice and your retainer foolishly gets themselves killed again.” His voice was a low purr, a taunt obviously meant to draw a reaction from the unstable prince. “These tournaments are expensive to hold, you know.”

Xander straightened, eyes flicking across Garon to Iago who sat at the king’s right, and something dark passed over his face before his attention went back to the arena in full. He was not a child, and knew better than to respond to Iago’s snide remarks.

The battles continued; all of the participants were nobles hailing from families already associated with the royalty. Xander was grateful for the shaded booth – he didn’t want to face the relatives of his retainers, if they’d come here to scorn him. Still, the prince silently counted out any axe-fighters or bow knights, no matter how skillful they were at dismembering someone.

Hours into the event, the strongest of the participants were now facing off against each other, and the crowd’s roar had picked up. Two women stepped out from either side; one, beside a huge wyvern, the other atop a white horse – or, perhaps it should’ve been white, but much of its body was stained bright red. The wyvern rider wielded an axe, the cavalier a spear, and along with the weapon advantage the wyvern rider appeared much more composed and professional than her opponent, who for some reason was giggling and spinning her lance around like a child at play.

They clashed violently, the wyvern-rider struggling to keep up with this cavalier’s speed and ferocity. Iago and the crown prince alike had leaned slightly forward in their seats, tense (Garon, as usual, was a blank slate, his eyes not quite focused). Then the wyvern-mounted woman slipped up, made the mistake everyone was waiting for, and the crowd seemed to hold their breaths… and the cavalier’s weapon jutted upwards, digging into the wyvern’s head from the bottom of its jaw.

For a moment everything was still as a painting – even the rider herself was stunned. Blood trickled out from around the spear, drips at first, then globs of it, and the cavalier tore the harpoon-like head of her weapon from the wyvern, gore spilling out all over her arm, horse, and the ground below. The sound was audible even from the stand where Xander sat. His eyes narrowed; the crowd itself tensed up, waiting for the rider to make a move as her mount sagged onto the ground, twitching.

The cavalier began giggling again, twirling her weapon as her horse stepped closer to the rider. The stunned woman wriggled from her saddle and rose her axe just in time to block another swipe of the spear, lashing blood out before her and across the dirt. She caught it with her other hand before going in for another strike. The demounted woman blocked lunge after lunge, her opponent chortling all the while, the horse stomping all over the now dead wyvern without a care.

Then, in a risky move, the woman dove forwards at the cavalier, skidding across the ground and emerging behind the mounted fighter. With a battlecry that sounded more like a scream of despair than anything else, she threw the huge weapon at the bloodthirsty woman, who was just barely able to duck out of the way; its blade, however, managed to chop off half of one of the dyed pigtails she wore.

Noticing this, the cavalier seethed and kicked her horse into a gallop. At this point, the wyvern rider had all but given up, and just stood there paralyzed in fear as the nightmarish, doll-like woman rose her lance.

She wasn’t even given a chance to breathe a final word of prayer; the cavalier lodged her weapon, still coated with the wyvern’s thick blood, through her chest. The crowd seemed to let out a collective gasp of relief that the battle was over. But, still, the cavalier continued, giggling and hiccupping as she bore hole after hole into her opponent’s lifeless body and making a sickening display of it to the spectators, until someone finally ordered a set of guards to pull her out of the arena. Even then, she swung around and slashed one of them across the face trying to free herself.

Eventually the cavalier was coaxed back into the barracks, and another set of guards came out to clean up the mess she’d made.

 Iago was chuckling; “My, my, I wouldn’t touch _that_ with a ten-foot pole.”

Garon hummed in agreement. “She made a mess.”

“I want _her_ ,” said the prince, eyes still trained on the arena below them.

Iago swung around, a motion that tossed his silk robes and cape behind him. “You _what?_ ” Garon, too, spared a bewildered glance at his son.

“This tournament is being held for me to find a suitable retainer,” Xander stated evenly. “I have found one.”

Iago scoffed; the king’s eyes narrowed, and his upper lip curling. “We will not employ _lunatics_ into our high guard, prince. If anything, she should be jailed for such a display.”

Xander knew of plenty of lunatics in the army and amongst his father’s own advisors, but he said nothing on that subject. “I’ve made my decision.” He stood before Iago could protest any further, moving to ring a bell at the front of the platform. It signaled the tournament’s close.

His gaze fell upon the untidy stadium again. _Someone who won’t hesitate to kill. Merciless and unyielding. I couldn’t give another damn about personality anymore._

 

-*-

 

Candles flickered in Xander’s peripheral vision, casting strange shadows across his father’s face. The knee in which his weight was pressed on was screaming in protest. Taking in a stiff breath, he asked, “Father… your wishes?”

It’d been around an hour since the end of the tournament, and Xander had been given time to visit his quarters (as well as look around for his siblings, but he’d found out Camilla was traveling, Leo was out training in the Woods of the Forlorn, and Elise just hadn’t been in her room). No sooner was he summoned back to the throne again, expecting to be dismissed back to the Northern Fortress.

“Your… new ‘retainer’ will be put through rigorous training to get her _accustomed_ to the military,” growled Garon. “I will not, however, compromise the crown prince’s safety so foolishly by only allowing him one psychopathic retainer. You will be assigned another.”

The prince blinked. “Another… Right now?”

Garon nodded, his beady eyes moving past his son down the great hall. Xander heard the click and creak of the doors opening, and a set of uneven footsteps. His heartbeat picked up, and disregarding the king for a moment, he stood and turned. “I had some advisees of mine find suitable candidates, ones that hadn’t been chosen for the tournament held earlier…”

There were four warriors approaching, all in a completely different tier as the next; on the far left was a tall, ferocious-looking great knight, beside her a troubadour clutching her staff rather timidly. Next was a dark mage, his robes yellow with orange accents, gaze wandering around the throne room in wonder, not the least bit intimidated by the architecture or the two royal’s presence. If Xander had been closer, he would have heard the whistle the mage made at the swirling stone arches above them.

Finally, on the far right, was a face familiar to the prince – the mercenary from the tournament held for his coming-of-age. Laslow. He didn’t appear that different; his armor was a little more worn, hair a little longer, bags under his eyes a little more prominent. A curved blade hung at his hip. All in all, the mercenary looked as ordinary as he had the first time Xander had encountered him, but the memory of that battle and its difficulty still sat fresh in his mind.

One of the royal guardsmen escorting the party in introduced the four, and Xander stiffly ran through formalities with them. The knight and troubadour both had impressive backgrounds and experience in combat; the two younger men on the right, less so, and the description the guard gave of their backgrounds and origins was almost suspiciously brief.

Xander had to keep from tapping his foot in wait. When he was finally given an opportunity to speak, despite the looming presence of his father some distance behind him, he was concise; “I couldn’t turn up an opportunity to have you on my guard, Laslow. Not after the duel we had; there’s no question about it.”

A number of people rose their brows at this, and Xander gritted his teeth in an attempt to ignore their gazes. Credentials were one thing – experience was another, and the prince had a firsthand account of Laslow’s skill in battle.

Still… his former retainer’s deaths sat heavy on his heart, destabilizing him. Was he at risk of the same thing happening with this man? Laslow was a formidable warrior, but Xander had made the same judgment before…

The man in question was glancing back and forth, blushing like a maiden whose hand had just been chosen for marriage. “Eh? M-me, Prince Xander?”

A cough of laughter came from the mage on his right.

“Do you have any objections?” questioned the prince, holding his head high. As if this Laslow had any choice in the matter.

“Of course not,” replied the swordsman almost too smoothly. “I-I’d be honored, milord. When do we start!?”

 _He’s going to need more than a little training, too, it seems,_ thought the prince as he dismissed the other three. It was hard to tell whether the slack in their shoulders was from disappointment or relief. Nodding his head at the shorter man, Xander approached the throne again, body tensing as he again lowered himself onto his bad leg. “Father.”

The king scoffed. “A hasty decision...” His lip rose as he sized up Laslow. “Not as decorated as the others, either.”

“I fought with him in a tournament,” Xander argued. _Don’t you remember? Before you made me face off with that_ thing, _without warning?_ “He seemed more than worthy then.”

Laslow shifted awkwardly behind the prince.

“…Very well,” Garon huffed. “I will trust your judgment, son… _Iago_!”

The sorcerer melted out from the shadow of the throne, his eye drilling into Laslow. “My king.”

“Put the boy with that other girl. And prepare an escort to see Xander out.”

“Right away, milord,” purred Iago, leaving to retrieve more guards.

The prince and his newly assigned retainer followed, with a final bow to the king. As soon as the doors closed and they were alone in the hallway (save for the ever-silent elite guards posted outside) Laslow let out a breath, keeling over with his hands on his knees. The paladin spared him a glance as they waited for Iago’s return.

“Prince Xander… While I’m honored to be of service to you… your father… H-he’s…”

“Intimidating?” finished the prince.

“Yes…” breathed the mercenary, standing up straight again. “Excuse me – I shouldn’t have…”

“I don’t disagree with you. But he is the king of Nohr, afterall. I’ll be the same, someday.”

Laslow’s gaze lingered on Xander, but he didn’t respond, deciding to keep his distance instead. The two waited in silence. Iago was taking a while.

“There’s no… ‘initiation’ ceremony, then?” inquired the swordsman, shifting to lean against the wall. “That _was_ pretty brief, if I must say…”

“There is, but it seems my father doesn’t see it to be the time for that, now. You will likely be given training first, along with Peri, and be called back later on for the formal titling.” His hand moved to rest on Siegfried’s hilt, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You’re quite lucky, actually – it’s customary to duel your choice for retainer before settling on it. Our battle back then was enough for me, however. And my position as crown prince gives me at least some flexibility in what traditions I must go through with, however cumbersome they may be.”

Laslow chuckled. “I left that much of an impression, did I…?” Truthfully, he shuddered at the idea of having to fight the crown prince _again,_ and risk his only chance at infiltrating the Nohr royal circle. He and Odin both had placed their bets on the tournament a few years back being enough. And as he’d thought, this was the payoff. The thought warmed his chest. One step closer to home.

Heavy steps echoed off the walls, signaling the approach of Iago and his entourage. Both men stood at the ready again as the group emerged from the shadows, and Xander and Laslow parted ways, the latter to meet his new partner, the former to journey back to the fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first off, ridiculous gap between chapters, I know, big apology for that. It takes me a lot longer to crank out chapters where I'm less certain of what should happen and what should wait for later, but the next one is another I've been planning for a while, so it shouldn't take long for me to post. B)
> 
>  Some other notes:  
> \- I hope Lilith doesn't seem too OOC. She really seems tougher and colder in the Hidden Truths DLC than she is in the story, so maybe her kind front was only put up for Corrin. let lilith be fierce 2k17  
> \- Being Xander sucks doesn't it. Even his servants think of him as a means to an end! He'll get a break though, eventually lmao (maybe)  
> \- I think it's been over a year now since I posted this. One year and I haven't even made it to the part of the story I really started writing this for..! Nearly there, though. But thanks to everyone for your interest! Even though Fates is kinda dead now, I hope you'll keep reading, there's still a whole lot of things that are gonna happen in this.


	17. Embrace the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her pieces set in place, Azura begins her move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went ahead and raised the rating. There's not really anything super explicit rn, but I'd just feel better with that there.

Days blended into weeks, weeks into months. Xander’s wounded leg healed nicely – much to his misfortune, though he would never admit so, as it meant he was again fit to resume his training. But even in his good physical health, his motivation to fulfill his father’s task had yet to return in full. He’d tried _everything_ to get the dragon to listen, to cooperate, or just to focus on something besides trying to tear Xander to shreds, but nothing had had an effect. He would swing his sword around late into the night, blowing off his frustration, and then, exhausted, end up sleeping in far later than a prince should. His saving grace was that, aside from his own word, there was no way for Garon to know any of this; it was not in the maid’s place, nor the guard’s place, to report anything to any _one_ , and the king had not assigned any kind of supervisor to keep tabs on his progress. Not even Iago’s nosy illusions – that is, projecting an image of himself hundreds of leagues away to bicker with someone about some task they apparently weren’t doing to the king’s liking – could reach him here, as the heavy magical barrier surrounding the fortress suppressed such forms of magic.

Lately, Xander had taken to leaving the fortress and meeting to train with Peri and Laslow at a town north of Windmire. The girl, after all, was in serious need of discipline herself. From what he’d been told, she hadn’t been performing well on her etiquette sessions back in the capital. Laslow, meanwhile, was passing with flying colors.

The three would meet at the town’s barracks. It sat near the foot of the plains just south of the mountains, and was harassed by a consistently strong wind. The nearby cliffs made rockslides a problem for the village, as well, and like most of Nohr their farmlands were tainted and bare. The crown was paying them to host the prince and his entourage here.

Peri took to Xander immediately, admiring his skill with both a blade and a lance, as well as his ruthlessness in battle (not that she’d worded it quite this way). Xander could admire the girl too, in a way, with her strange personality, and moreso her skill in dismantling people. Despite her tendencies to go overboard, she followed orders well, and seemed loyal enough. Training with her was a great relief from dealing with the dragon in the fortress.

Laslow was Peri’s opposite in every way. He was quiet, yet social and friendly with the townsfolk. Didn’t seem to enjoy killing. They both smiled a little more than Xander was comfortable with, but for vastly different reasons. He required significantly less training, too. Every time Xander was able to spar with him, he was both impressed and intrigued by the man’s strange style of swordplay. He was young, yet carried himself like he already had a lifetime of experience under his belt. The biggest issue Xander encountered with Laslow had to be his habit of spacing out and getting distracted.

But Xander did not allow his relationship with either of them to extend further than it needed to.  The battle at the border sat fresh in his mind; every time he wished to laugh and appreciate one of Laslow’s jokes, offer Peri friendly advice, or confide anything in them, he stopped himself. _Dispensable,_ the prince would remind himself. _One battle is all it takes, one wrong turn is all it takes._

 

_-*-_

 

It was evening, and the prince and his entourage sat in the corner of the local tavern, soup and drinks before them. Some royal guards lingered throughout the building, keeping an eye on things to ensure Xander’s safety, but otherwise the three were alone. The piping notes of a flute peeked occasionally above the buzzing conversations all around them, and though they sat on the wall opposite to the fireplace, its warmth still reached them.

The titling ceremony was the following morning, and Xander was staying with his retainers in the town overnight. The three would then head for the castle at dawn. It was a nice break from the fortress, even if the prince dreaded seeing his father again. Peri and Laslow were full of nothing but questions – well, that and the quail soup they’d both been diving into – and their conversation had moved into specifics of the ceremony. Xander had mentioned, among other things, that it included the two drinking from a goblet of said royal’s blood, and that had certainly drawn them both from their tipsy dazes. Laslow’s face turned a little green, but he forced his stomach to settle at the thought of wasting the delicious food before him. Peri, meanwhile, seemed to only grow _more_ excited at this.

From there, their chat had turned over to the history behind dragon blood, in both Nohr and Hoshido – though Xander was admittedly less knowledgeable about the latter’s traditions. The paladin patiently explained dragon veins, the tradition to pass it down to retainers, and general history regarding the First Dragons. It was still strange that Laslow wasn’t intimately familiar with Nohr’s founding mythology and religion – even if Xander had been rasied in Nohr’s heart, he’d thought it was simply common knowledge, something all parents told their children growing up.

The Dusk Dragon, wyverns… all of that, Xander explained in detail, perhaps enjoying the sound of his own voice a bit too much after having unapproachable company for so long. Then Laslow had brought up something that stumped him.

“What about that dragon, at the tournament? What type was that one?”

The prince blinked, setting down his fork, bits of carrot still stuck on its ends. He tensed, his entire demeanor shifted, as sharp red eyes fell on the mercenary. “…’that’ dragon…?”

“Hmmm… It was awfully strange looking. I assume that’s what you’ve been up to, yes, Lord Xander?” Laslow said, taking a sip from the sizable mug in his hand and leaning onto his elbow. There was a lazy, curious smile on his face – clearly unaware of the jolt the question had given his liege. “I remember his highness mentioning that you would be training it, or something…”

“What I’ve been up to…?” His mouth felt dry, jaw stiff.

Peri nearly leaped to her feet. Her hands made a thud as they hit the table, causing her own soup bowl to jostle. “Whaaat? Lord Xander is training a _dragon_!?”

This snapped Xander from his daze, and he cast the girl a glare. “ _Keep your voice down, Peri_...!”

Instantly, she obliged, taking a seat again and running two fingers over her lips. Her wide eyes told the prince she wouldn’t be letting the tidbit slip her mind any time soon, though.

The prince’s gaze searched their surroundings for any sign that someone had heard them, but found none. The bard was much too loud, and the beer much too potent, it seemed. Sighing, he turned to the two.

“No one can be told of that – do you two understand? Not now. If they were to find out, I’d have to…”

“Stab them?” Peri leaned back in her chair, stretching an arm behind her and standing a second later, lance in hand. She turned on Laslow. “I’ve got you covered, Lord Xander!”

The mercenary went white as a ghost, his mug dropping to the floor as he scooted away from Peri in a panic. “Wait! W-what!?”

“ _Enough,_ Peri. Please. Just act as if nothing was said,” urged the prince in exasperation, easing the glistening weapon from her grasp. She seemed disappointed, but sat down again, as told.

Laslow mourned briefly over his spilled drink, but cheered right up again when a fairly attractive waitress came around to clean up the mess. Xander only sighed into a hand. _What am I dealing with, here…_

“Would you like a refill, sir?” the woman asked. Laslow was on his feet in seconds, bowing deeply.

“My mistake, milady. If you would be so kind. Perhaps you might indulge in one yourself, and join me here?” When he peeked up from beneath his bangs, she’d already turned and disappeared into another throng of villagers towards the bar. The swordsman slumped back into his chair, lip sticking out in a pout unbefitting a man of his age and skill.

“My drink, and woman, both gone… I suppose this is the life I should become accustomed to,” he lamented.

 

-*-

 

The titling ceremony passed without issue. Well, mostly – Laslow still felt his hands quake a little when he was handed that damned goblet. He’d thought Ylissean royal traditions were strange, from what he’d heard from Lucina, but drinking blood was just plain vampiric to him, like something that’d come out of Plegia’s rituals. The speed and vigor at which Peri had accepted it creeped him out a bit, as well.

Still feeling a bit uncomfortable after being in the room with the king for that long – what was it, two hours? – Laslow retreated to the armory nearby the main keep of Krakenburg, leaving Peri to her own business. He couldn’t attend to the prince any further, not now anyway – Garon had called for the paladin to stay as the room was emptying.

The first hall was empty, and for a good moment Laslow believed it was just him and the endless rows of weapons there. He’d barely taken a few steps towards his own when he was assaulted by a powerful smack – no, two – on his back that sent him stumbling forwards.

“What-“ the mercenary swung around, mouth agape, to find that Selena and Odin had snuck up on him. They were grinning.

“Congrats, idiot!” the red-haired girl beamed, resting her hands on her hips. “Ya made it!”

“The chosen three, their pieces all in place… What might happen next? Only fate can tell – but little does fate know, these otherworldly travelers pay it no heed!” Odin’s babbling seemed a little more coherent than usual.

Laslow blushed. “You know I was chosen weeks ago. It was only now that they got to titling, since Peri needed so much, erm… ‘catching up’.”

“I know, but still,” Selena shook his shoulder and nodded towards the stairwell he’d come down from. “It’s worth a celebration. And, y’know. A chat. C’mon, drinks are on Odin and I. We’ve been getting the pay longer, after all.”

After a bit of pushing, Laslow was led along by the two, slowly warming up to the idea of a night out. After all, it wasn’t so often Selena got this cheerful and cooperative. And more importantly, he needed somewhere more anonymous to bring up the information he’d gotten the night before.

As if nothing had changed, as this was bright, familiar Ylisse and not some dark, twisted, foreign land, the three drifted out of the castle and into the town.

 

-*-

 

“How is the progress?”

Garon’s deep voice rang through the throne room, though it was only him, his son, and Iago present. “Is the dragon ready for battle?”

Xander’s entire body went still as silence filled the void his father’s words left. He could feel both men’s gazes burning into him, glowing with anticipation. _It must be done,_ Xander told himself, and then he raised his chin, meeting his father’s gaze.

“Progress has… been slow, my lord Father,” responded the prince, doing everything in his power to keep his voice sturdy. “The dragon has been uncooperative. I would even say I’ve failed to find any hint of intelligence in it, aside from the new ways to attempt to dismember me it comes up with.”

The king and his advisor exchanged a fiery look. “If beasts such as wyverns can be trained to obey man, then so can this dragon. I expect you to do as such, my son.” He squinted then, leaning forward in his throne. “Or do I need to send more to assist you in the Northern Fortress? I expected you to be capable of this task on your own, as Nohr’s most gifted knight.” ‘Or are you not as strong as I presumed’ – those words hung unsaid in the incense-filled air.

Xander bowed his head lower, like a dog that’d just been scolded by its master. “No, Father – I’m… more than capable of the task. You were not wrong to put your trust in me…” The words rolled out of his mouth, tasting horrible and making his face contort. A blatant lie – it’d been well over a year, and he’d made next to no progress. But telling the king that, outright, would risk angering him much more.

Garon grumbled. “We’ll discuss this further later on. For now, there’s a war council meeting that I expect you to attend. Come.” The man rose, and his son’s eyes flicked up again. Garon’s armor was as impressive as usual, gleaming, gilded obsidian against the stark white backdrop of his cloak. But that was more like a shell now – his head and skin was wrinkled and withdrawn, facial features buried in brittle white hair. His sunken, red eyes did not reflect the light of the candles around them, and when Xander looked closely they seemed empty. As he followed the man down one of the nearby halls, he tried to think of the last time he’d seen his father wearing something besides his decorative set of armor – it had to have been years ago. The man within it could be shriveled up and weak, and the only indicator that he held any of the strength he used to – that Garon, the conqueror, used to – was how he walked and moved and presented himself.

Feeling the weight of his own failures on his chest, Xander struggled not to drag his feet as they entered the conference room.

 

-*-

 

Jakob appeared rather flustered as he entered Azura’s chambers. His eyes darted to her first thing, shoes tapping against the ground as he approached the table she sat at. It was late in the afternoon, and crimson light was pouring in through the one window on the far wall. Half of the chandelier was lit, and before the princess was a book of some kind.

The butler stood, anxious, but patient to the last, as Azura turned in her seat. One eyebrow raised in question, prompting him to go ahead and speak.

“The guard is away at the moment, my lady. If now is an opportune time for you to lend me your ear…”

“Speak, Jakob,” said the songstress, fully diverting her attention to him. Swaps in patrols usually only took but a minute.

He bowed his head. “Right... where to start… there was a war council meeting around an hour ago.”

Azura paused, raising a hand to stop him. “The meetings – we usually discuss these…” Her gaze flicked from the door, to the pile of stationery lying on the other end of the marble tabletop.

“I must insist on telling you, Lady Azura. Pardon my rudeness, but it seems very important to your agenda…”

“I understand. Just mind the door…”

Jakob then began dumping information on Azura almost faster than she could process it. He’d spent time in the kitchens – where most of the gossip and information gathered by the castle’s servants circulated – and in particular, spoken with two maids who had been at the war council meeting. It had at first been the same as many of the others, which Jakob made it a habit to report to Azura on, even if it usually was irrelevant to her activities. But this one had a tidbit of not only highly secretive information, but something that halted all of Azura’s thoughts – Garon, Iago, and some others were planning to travel. Overseas _._ Some region called _Mokushu_ , on the border with Hoshido… Apparently it was its own separate nation and its ambitious new leader was looking to turn on the country that it’d once been on good terms with. Nohr was looking to fuel that conflict and spark a fire in Hoshido before they themselves invaded. They would depart in a mere two weeks.

Azura’s interests lied not with the more dramatic political aspects, however. It was the mere confirmation that Iago would be gone for good from the castle, alongside his own loyal entourage, that made the gears in her head begin to spin. The border was far, and then they’d have to charter a ship, cross the sea, and begin negotiations with the foreign nation. The princess stared at her hands in her lap; they slowly clenched into fists, and in her palms she could feel how fast her heart was beating.

“Lady Azura?” Jakob tried. Footsteps outside the door signaled the return of the guard.

“My will is far from broken, Iago,” she muttered to herself before standing, the chair screeching against the ground. The intensity in her yellow eyes made the butler jump. “Find Elise.”

 

-*-

 

“What next, then…?” Selena thought aloud, picking at her plate of beef. “If they’ve got whatever place they’re keeping her completely closed off, I don’t think any of us have a chance of getting in. Even you, Laslow.”

“Yeah, I think the same… But what else can we do? Now that we’ve got our positions…” Laslow shivered. They were on the second floor, not unlike last night, and for some reason this tavern was empty, even during what should’ve been happy hour. Like most of Windmire. Not even the girls here warmed his chest – the fear in their eyes was too offsetting. “Damn it… Even after getting this far, it feels like we’ve still got _years_ ahead of us before we can be done with this.”

Odin set down his fork and knife, straightening as if he was about to speak. Selena pointed a finger at him. “Hey, before you come up with some master plan – no, we are _not_ sneaking into a high-security Nohrian prison to free a dragon.”

The blonde’s face turned into one of dismay. “I-That’s not what I was gonna say!”

The two mercenaries hardly believed his protest.

“ _Patience_ , is what I was going to say,” Odin continued, smoothing out his ruffled clothes. “We’ve worked our way up this far, haven’t we? That alone is impressive enough. Getting discouraged now will only make things harder in the long run.”

His cheeks reddened as Selena and Laslow both gaped at him. “What?”

Laslow smirked. “You know, I sometimes forget you can have those brief moments of wisdom, Odin.”

“Agreed,” chimed Selena.

“E-excuse you! Odin Dark is the pinnacle of wisdom – his arduous travels and many diverse companions have made him so. Mock him, and he may smite you where you sit,” the mage barked, standing from his chair.

His friends could only chuckle in response. Odin sat, embarrassed, but glad his words had done something.

 

-*-

 

“Oh, boy oh boy oh boy oh boy!”

Elise pranced through the doorway, bringing with her more energy than Azura’s room had ever seen. Jakob stood wide-eyed at the threshold. Compared to the youngest princess, donning gowns of pink and black and gold and lavender, he almost blended into the stone walls in his gray and black attire. Tromping in behind her was little Elise’s retainer, Effie, wearing a simple pink tunic and leggings. An enormous wooden chest was in her arms, bigger than her liege, even – though she carried it with little effort. The butler closed the door behind both girls once they were inside, avoiding eye contact with the sentry.

“Azura~! Hi!” The blonde dove into Azura, and if she hadn’t been prepared for the hug she might’ve been knocked onto the ground. “I’ve missed you! I can’t believe you finally invited me over!”

The foreign princess allowed her lips to rise into a smile as she returned the hug. “I’ve missed you as well, Elise. I’m sorry for not contacting you, it’s…” _Because of your father, your family, your kingdom that wishes me to be isolated from you…_ “…I’ve been busy, between dance practice and going on trips with Camilla.”

Elise paused in snuggling her face into Azura’s neck and looked up at her with her deep violet eyes (no doubt a trait of her mother’s). “Me too. Father’s making me go through all sorts of boring training. I really enjoy horseback riding, though. And I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but my healing magic is going great too!” She stepped back, folding her arms behind her and rocking idly back on her heels. “My teachers even say I could get my own custom stave soon. How cool would that be?”

Azura giggled. “Quite cool, Elise. I think you’ll look very heroic.”

“You think!?” beamed the girl. “Hehe… That’s just the beginning, though!” She bounded over to the sitting area, picking up one of the iron tongs and raising it into the air. “I’ll pick up _real_ magic after, and get even stronger than Leo!” She swung the object to her right, towards Jakob (who’d taken to his blending-into-the-wall trick). He jumped at the sudden movement. “ _Bang!_ ”

“Elise – you probably shouldn’t swing that around,” advised Effie, who’d slipped past Azura and taken a seat at the table. Already, she was munching on the loaf of bread Jakob had left out.

The older princess’s heart twisted at the thought of Elise going into battle someday, but she figured there was no helping it. Even if the girl had managed to stay innocent this long, she’d go down the same path all her other siblings had – into one of war and combat and destruction. Her blood destined her to. Again, Azura silently damned the king.

The four got settled as the sky outside darkened, chatting casually over tea. Azura and Elise shared stories; the former, having developed a love for the occult, attempted scaring her little sister with an exaggerated tale from her and Camilla’s trip to a forest of man-eating trees (It’d had the opposite effect, though, and the girl had put Carnivale on her list of places to go when she was older.) Jakob and Effie occasionally bickered with each other about this or that. Even if Azura had summoned the princess here for another reason entirely, she allowed herself to get distracted by this. Little moments of happiness that brought some warmth back to her frozen-over heart. Elise was truly a precious light in Nohr’s gloom.

“Oh – I brought what you asked for, too, Azura!” piped Elise as Jakob carried their plates away. “Effie?”

The older girl stood, and clambered back over to the door where the chest she’d carried in. Arms folded, Azura joined Elise to get a peek of what was inside.

“Clothes…?” Jakob murmured from somewhere behind Azura as it was pulled open.

“Dress-up with Azura…!” Elise turned and gazed up at the princess again, eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna look so pretty! Now, where to start?”

Humming, the girl began digging through bin of fabric. Azura observed with a smile, ignoring Jakob’s questioning gaze burning into her back. Once again, he was left to figure out his lady’s complicated actions on his own.

 

-*-

 

It was some two hours later when his questions were finally answered.

“Elise,” began Azura, casually, as she looked herself over in the mirror. The dress she wore now had no shortage of laces, running up the skirts and either side of the torso. It was black and white, with all sorts of patterns along the sleeves and waist, but not quite the girl’s style. In the end she preferred the Vallite dresses she’d worn since she was a child – they were much easier to move in, and less excessive, but she only had a few now that were wearable, all of which Camilla was kind enough to sew for her. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you try on one of my dresses? The special design my mother made. Camilla has sewn quite a few of them for me; I’m sure one could fit you.”

The princess didn’t think it possible for Elise to beam any more than she had when she’d walked through the door, but now she was proven wrong.

Clapping her hands, the girl ran up to her, nearly tripping on the long blue gown she wore. “You mean it, really?! I’d love to, Azura…! They’re so pretty and strange…”

Smiling, Azura moved over to her closet again and picked out one that seemed to be the youth’s size. Behind her, Elise kept babbling – and then she heard those key words, the ones she’d planned this for.

“Why don’t you try on my dress, too, Azura? Oh, maybe I can find a good wig too! And we can dress up as each other!”

The songstress’s hand lingered over a hanger for just a moment, before picking out the correct gown. Her smile broadened at her adoptive sister. “That sounds like a fun idea, Elise. I could try my best impression of you.”

In the other room, Jakob scoffed at the thought.

When all was said and done, and Azura was looking herself over in the mirror, she had to admit she made a convincing Elise. Her eyes really gave her away, though, pale yellow rather than dark violet. That and her demeanor, but she was fully convinced she could act like Elise if need be. Being cheerful wasn’t _that_ hard, if you gave it your all.

Elise, meanwhile, was pouting over the curls in the ends of the pastel blue wig she wore. Even worse, beneath it, bits of her own platinum blonde hair were visible (she had so much, it was too hard a task to wrap it all into the wig.) Otherwise, though, she looked humorously similar to Azura.

“Elise, relax – it looks fine!”

The girl pouted. “It doesn’t! Your hair is way sleeker, Azura… I wish we had more blue wigs.”

“Maybe I should try curling my hair, then, like you and Camilla,” she replied, moving into the foyer again. Effie had been pestering Jakob to give her some cooking tips, and Jakob would only give her difficult-to-understand bits of information that a beginner would never be able to utilize. Both of them squinted when the two princesses walked out again, doing a turn-around and curtsey.

“If only I brought my violin,” lamented Elise. “I could have tried to play one of your songs, Azura.”

“I’d love to do a duet sometime, Elise.” Jakob was now stroking his chin as his gaze moved over Azura, as if something had finally clicked.

“Really? We would do so good together! We could even ask Father to give us a place at one of the royal balls, and play for all those people…”

Again, the conversation drifted. Azura was patient as ever, even as the hour became late. She didn’t feel an ounce of exhaustion, and was focused as ever.

“…I’ll have to ask the wig lady about blue wigs, and getting one that’s more like _your_ hair, Azura,” Elise was saying, absently working a section of Azura’s wig into the same twist that she normally wore.

“’Wig lady?’” inquired the older princess. “In Windmire, then?”

“Well, not _exactly_. In Windmire, but…” Her face scrunched up. “Y’know, the _other_ part.”

Azura was no stranger to the pleasant underworld of Windmire, that existed and thrived beneath the castle’s nose.  She’d never been there. Not yet, at least…

“Other section?” Innocence was something she was bad at feigning.

Elise glanced at the door, frowning all of a sudden. “Effie, can you go scare those mean guys off?”

“Be a pleasure to, Elise.” The muscular woman rose and exited the room. She seemed pretty pissed off, like she already had some beef with the guards, or maybe it was just the fact they were constantly spying on Azura. A moment later, there was a thud, some other noises – then the sound of retreating footsteps. When the retainer reentered, she was cracking her knuckles.

Jakob huffed. “D-did you just…?!”

“Yeah, Windmire! There’s this marketplace underneath it, it goes on forever… I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it! Camilla never told you? …Well, either way, there’s so many shops I like going to… the wig lady, the flower lady, this kind old woman that knits… My old caretaker moved there, too, after my mother died. She was afraid someone in the castle might come after her. I think Camilla’s and Leo’s might live there, too. A lot of people do, ‘cause Windmire can get so nasty sometimes…” Downcast, her hands slowed in the wig’s hair, though still moved expertly – then picked up speed again, starting on the second twisted pigtail. “But it’s okay! Because it’s so nice down there. And even though I’m a princess, they like me. They know I won’t tell anyone that would get them in trouble. Even if I did, I don’t think Father would bother with a place like that, unless they had an army or something. No one in the castle ever knows I’m there, either! There’s this hallway near the back of Camilla’s quarters, and it’s got a secret passageway that leads there. Sometimes, I even tell my trainers I’m sick to get out of practice, and then I’ll sneak away to the markets.”

Azura chortled along. “My! You’re as brave as I thought, Elise.”

The girl tied up the last bit of the pigtail, and let it fall again. Satisfied with her work, she nodded and sat down beside Azura again. “Hehe, thanks! But… Oh, I wish I could take you there, now…”

The Vallite hummed in agreement. “Yes. I’m afraid Iago has his guards looking out for me at all times. I don’t want to endanger all those people.”

A heavy silence settled over the table. Azura could practically see Elise’s mind work at the dilemma as she rested her chin in her arms. Jakob, who was leaning up against the wall still, was just staring at Azura in shock. His arms sat tightly crossed around his chest.

“Oh!” The blonde perked up. A huge grin spread over her face. “But there _is_ a way, Azura! I got an idea! This is just perfect!”

“Is there…?”

 

-*-

 

Minutes later, Azura, still in her Elise-getup, was trying her best at a cheerful trot as she traveled to the royal quarters of Castle Krakenburg. Jakob was hot on her tail… wearing an oversized pink tunic over his usual black pants, and a very messy blonde wig.

“I’m worried about what they’ll do once the guard comes back,” the butler was saying, his cheeks a little red. “That Effie _punched_ the one from before.”

“Don’t worry about it,” whispered Azura as they rounded a corner and entered the great hall. It was late at night, though, and no one was around except for more guards. They didn’t spare the duo a second glance. Still, knowing that her voice was much different from Elise’s, she kept it low. “I’m convinced Elise can do a good enough impression of me. It’s not like those guards interact with me directly enough to tell the difference, either. And Effie can get away with that, I’d imagine, given her character… and the fact that she’s with an actual _royal_ , not me.”

Jakob sighed, a sound that was laden with anxiety and exasperation.

She had trouble remembering where Camilla’s quarters were. Luckily, though, the princess was out of town (she’d always traveled a lot, but ever since she’d gotten older her trips had become much more frequent – both due to the fact that she was skilled enough to not have constant training anymore, and because suitors never left her alone.) A childhood stuck in the castle gave Azura a good sense of direction, however, and after too many stairs she found herself at Camilla’s door. She went out of her way to make sure the area guards spotted her, so they’d assume Elise was no longer in the foreign princess’s room.

With an uneasy glance back at Jakob, Azura gave the handle a tug.

It did not budge.

 _Gods – no!_ She tugged harder, but the lock didn’t give. With a heavy sigh, then, she took a hold of the silver door knocker and rapped it against the surface. _Of course it would be locked._

Jakob stepped back. “ _Azura!”_

But the princess remained resolute. After a minute, and a few groans, it swung open, revealing an older girl Azura faintly recognized. Her red pigtails definitely rang a bell. Her face was almost as scarlet as her hair, and looked deeply baffled at the sight before her. She was around Azura’s height, and wore a similar getup that Effie had – a grayish-green tunic, with black accents, along with leggings.

For a solid thirty seconds, the girl stared at the two slightly-off people standing before her. She was wobbling, and each heavy blink she did seemed like it took a lot of effort. “Wha… Princess Elise? And – Effie?”

Teeth gritted, posture way too stiff, Azura nodded. “…It’s me!” she squeaked.

“H…Hello,” Jakob grunted.

“Damn,” _Selena_ , now it clicked, muttered. “Gods, maybe I’m just too fucked up and I’m not seeing straight, but you guys look different…” She rubbed her eyes with her free hand, then stumbled to the side, giving them space to enter. “What’re you doing up this late?”

In an attempt to mimic one of Elise’s mannerisms, Azura tucked her arms behind her and smiled, certain that she looked like a killer. Xander’s new retainer was what she felt like. “We were gonna take the secret passage again…!” Gods, her voice sounded absurd. She was lucky Jakob was as stoic a person as he was, or he’d probably be wheezing at this point.

Selena narrowed her eyes as she leaned onto a wall for support. “At this hour…? Ah, whatever… Just, err… Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not this kinda person, okay? We just went out drinking with Laslow, uh… your big brother’s new retainer, and… I got into a contest with one of the macho dudes at the bar who was acting all tough… and I…” In a matter of seconds, the girl’s cheeks turned from red to a pale green. “Oh, Gods, I gotta go. Just, uhh, don’t tell Camilla about all this, okay- urgh!”

 

-*-

 

Normally, it might’ve blown their cover to ask Selena where the usual entrance to the passageway was, but Azura convinced herself that she probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. After being shown the trapdoor, Jakob had followed her down it into what was definitely catacombs. The halls started off narrow and tight. Lighting came only from the torch Jakob held, illuminating empty slots in the tunnel where bodies were probably stored hundreds of years ago. Despite the oppressive atmosphere, neither were fazed in the slightest.

Gradually, the area widened into something resembling a sewer, though it was dried up and no longer in use. Azura was as silent as the eerie halls around them, offering Jakob not a smidge of banter or conversation, and every foreign noise that echoed around them caused him to mentally question himself what the _hell_ he was doing here.

After around an hour of walking, noise – real, ambient noise, not just half-imagined squeaks and drips – made itself heard. The two followed it as the tunnels became a bit less decrepit, and eventually lanterns appeared on the walls. Next were tents – some shoddy, some nicer. On the first hall were only one or two, then five or six on the next turn, and gradually they increased, some of them lit up orange, others with sacks of supplies lying outside. The two were quiet as signs of civilization continued to poke through the gloom. Banners, crates, candles, _people…_ Lanterns hanging from the ceiling, wooden shacks and stalls built into the walls, maintained bridges between either sides of the sewer (if you could call it that, now – the water running through these parts seemed surprisingly clean). And people. Regular looking townsfolk idled around, closed up their shops, sat by the water with an instrument in hand. There were shady folks too, their accusing glares making Jakob walk a little closer to Azura. The only population missing were guards. Armored men flaunting around the banner of Nohr. And somehow, to Azura, it was liberating.

“This is amazing,” she marveled. “Jakob, this is _amazing_.”

“It’s certainly… living up to the rumors I heard of,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Uhh, why exactly are we here, again, my lady?”

“Shura.”

Jakob stopped, his brain working furiously to put all the pieces together. “The prisoner… I thought so. You plan to meet with him?”

“I…” Azura hesitated, turning back to face Jakob. Her brow furrowed; one of her hands rose to touch her lips. Then her shoulders relaxed. “My. I’ve just realized I can speak freely here, can’t I..?”

Glancing around, Jakob nodded. “That seems to be the case, yes.”

“Come,” she called, turning to continue walking. Jakob wasn’t sure where his liege was going, but followed nonetheless.

“You’ve probably already passed judgment, but… please don’t think less of me for manipulating Elise like that,” she began, smiling at a merchant as they passed. “I’ve been planning that for a while – it’s the only way I can think for me to get access to the marketplace without alerting Iago.”

“I understand that much. If anything, it has only improved my opinion of you, my lady,” answered Jakob, careful not to use Azura’s name.

“I wanted to speak with Shura in person for this. And now that I know of their plan to travel, I can finalize things. If he takes back my amulet, hands it off to me… I could sneak out of the castle, and then…”

She came to a stop. Elise’s shoes were a little small on her, and with all the walking she could feel painful blisters on her heels already.

“…and then?” the butler’s voice was cautious, trying not to put too much pressure on the princess.

Azura sighed, glancing back at him. The huge twirls of blonde hair tossed to the side with the movement, tugging on the wig a bit, but before the few sneaky strands of blue hair could fall loose one of her hands flew up to fix them. “…Another time, Jakob.”

 

-*-

 

Though Azura had never been to this underground-Windmire, all of Camilla’s stories about it had given her somewhat of an intimate understanding about what kind of place it was and how it worked. She located an information broker the elder princess had known well, who then directed her to a shadier corner of the marketplace where lots of undercover Hoshidans apparently set up camp at.

They’d hardly taken a two steps into the dimly lit tunnel when a harsh whisper beckoned them into the shadows.

As Azura stepped into one of the tents poking out of the wall, figuring this is where the noise had come from, she couldn’t hide the fact that her hands were shaking, so she awkwardly tucked them behind her back, right clenching the left tightly. Light spilled out from a lantern across the meager portion of ground the tent covered, illuminating an array of papers, tools, and black blankets covering up who-knows-what. A row of crates bisected the room; on the side opposite the entrance sat the man who’d beckoned them off the street, using the surface like a counter. He raised an eyebrow.

“We don’t get many a’ your types coming through here…” His voice was laden with suspicion. Azura didn’t have it in her to dispel it, either. “What’s your business…?”

Swallowing, the girl responded, “I… I’m looking for a ninja. A Hoshidan ninja…”

“Got lots of those around,” said the man, scratching his beard. The clothes he wore were distinctly Nohrian, but he himself had to be at least part Hoshidan. If he was a ninja scouting this deep into Nohrian territory, he had reason to be suspicious. “You’ll have to be more specific, miss.”

There was movement behind them, and Azura had to reach out and grab one of Jakob’s arms to keep him from drawing a knife on the two additional men that entered the tent behind them, barring their exit. Unlike the one sitting before them, they were visibly armed with all sorts of sharp things Azura didn’t know the name to, but would certainly get the job done.

“If you’re going to make an arrest, you’d’ve been better off bringing someone a little more formidable with you than that… she-wolf.”

“I… I mean it…!” gasped Azura, turning again to the seated man. “I only wish to speak with him. His name is Shura, I assisted him in escaping Krakenburg’s prisons some time ago— _aah_!” Her voice cut off when a powerful arm clenched around her neck. Azura’s frail hands rose instinctively, but offered little fight. In the corner of her eye, Jakob moved in a blur, but wasn’t fast enough; an elbow to the chest had him slamming against the cobblestone ground, winded, the knife he drew making a _tink_ as it landed a few feet away.

“…Shura, you said?” The name was repeated between the three a few times as Azura fought valiantly against the massive arm constricting her.

“You’d best not be lying,” growled the first man, standing. The third, the one who had gotten Jakob, turned and left all of the sudden. Again, Azura squirmed.

The minute that it took for the guard to return felt like an hour to the princess in this position, but she was repaid for her pain when she spotted a vaguely familiar figure entering the tent behind him. Black hair with white streaks, a scowl etched onto his face, sharp and distrustful eyes – it had to be him, right...? They widened when they found Azura in the light of the single oil lantern hanging from the wall, and the ninja froze in the larger man’s shadow.

“You…” Something passed over his face. There were a few more scars on it. “You can’t be – “

Azura could only let out a choked cough in response. She was starting to wish she had taken off the wig earlier.

Shaking his head, Shura finally jumped into action. “Enough, unhand her!” The guard hesitated, his vicegrip loosening enough for the ninja to shove him away. “Would you nearly choke an unarmed girl to death?”

“Girl or not, if she’s with the royals, she’s not with us,” grumbled one of them, Azura wasn’t sure due to how much she was coughing. “You of all people should know that, Shura. …’sides, her guard there was armed to the teeth.”

He spared a glance over to the floor, where Jakob was still grunting in pain. Shaking his head again, he guided the princess outside, casting one last glare over his shoulder.

They ducked into one of the block’s abandoned fruit stalls, currently unoccupied. There, Shura leaned back against the wall opposite Azura, giving her a long, hard stare. The princess finally caught her breath, and looked over the outlaw standing before her, brain working hard to remember what she’d meant to say.

All of the sudden, he tromped forward and, in one rough motion, pulled the wig off her head. Azura couldn’t keep the cry from her chest as it tugged at her hair.

“Thought so,” he muttered under his breath.

She gritted her teeth, supposing she perhaps deserved this for how poorly she’d planned this half of her secret mission into the tunnels. “Please, take care with that – I’ll still need it to get back in the castle.”

Huffing, the ninja set it on the wooden stand beside him instead (that was still pretty dirty too, but it was better than the floor and… whatever kind of unsanitary slime coated it.) Then he crossed his arms and returned to his position against the wall.

She took a while to look him over again. The princess hardly remembered much of his appearance from when he’d first tried to kidnap her, and had only vague descriptions from Jakob to go off since, from his visits in the prisons. But he’d described him looking like a skeleton… or, at least, weak enough that the butler doubted he’d even be able to escape when the day had come. Now, the ninja lived up to his name; intimidating, sure, but healthy and fit. A bow was slung around his back, beside a quiver – clearly, he’d picked up some new tricks, too. And he’d won the respects of the other Hoshidans around these parts, though that, Azura assumed, was because of the time he spent in prison.

“I had a feeling it was you at first – got the same freakish yellow eyes, and that butler on the ground is the same too, even if he was dressed a bit strangely,” said Shura, glancing her way.

Azura nodded. “Thank you for waiting for us. Your cooperation, even without question or doubt… My appreciation is beyond words.”

The ninja sighed. “I tried to _kidnap_ you,” he sounded exasperated, “and you helped me escape from prison. Not just any prison, the _Nohrian capital._ How the hell else would I be able to repay you?”

“You don’t even wonder, then? What kind of plan I could have rolled up my sleeve? Or the fact that you could become an instrument in it? I could be another conniving Nohrian noble, out to murder one of my kin.” The doubts rolled off Azura’s tongue before she could even think. The fear had sat in her gut for a while, now, festering – what if he’d left for Hoshido while he still had a chance and abandoned their agreement? It was the safer plan, and Gods know he would want to take the safe route after enduring imprisonment from Iago for that long.

“You Nohrians may not be familiar with it,” he began, voice just above a mumble, “but in Hoshido, many of us rely on a strict code of honor. Certainly, the samurai more than others, but… Well, I’m not much of an honorable man anymore myself, considering how I make my living, but what you did for me was so substantial that I wouldn’t be able to let it go if I just abandoned that promise.”

Azura frowned. Wariness swam in her eyes. The outlaw tilted his head back against the wall.

“Besides, you seem trustworthy enough… even if you are… a Nohrian royal.” The man chuckled, a dry, sarcastic sound that only made Azura uncomfortable. “It sounds ridiculous out loud. But no black-hearted Nohrian bitch would free some Hoshidan scum like me from prison, who threatened her own well being, and they wouldn’t adopt some foul-mouthed kid as their butler, either. So,” he directed his gaze at her again, and Azura finally felt a bit of relief, “I’ll trust you, and I’ll trust that whatever task you’re putting me up to to buy my freedom is something that’ll let me give the Nohrian crown a kick in the ass, in the long run.”

The princess’s hands clenched at her sides as all of the anxiety about Shura left her in one short sigh. She smiled. “Very well. Then I should tell you what comes next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been using Lost in Thoughts lyrics a lot for chapter titles, but I especially like this line on this chapter b/c regardless of how good her cause is, Azura is doing a lot of the manipulation and plotting that other Nohrian nobles are probably known for (like the concubines).
> 
> Somehow I wrote this whole chap and didn't get to the part I wanted, that I'd *planned* on doing, but still had 7k+ words. Groan. The good news is that next one will be up very soon. Thanks again for all of the kudos and comments!!!!!!


	18. A Hand Reaches Through

The entourage left silently. Most of the time, when one of the higher-ups departed, there was talk of it; whispers among the maids, blabbering nobles making swift judgment of the war or whatever other reason drew them out of the castle, _anything_. But there was none this time; it was a blink-and-you-miss it type of departure, in the hours before dawn. Their group drained out of the castle little by little, so as not to draw any attention. It was Jakob, of course, who’d spotted a chunk of the royal guard heading towards the surface at some point. He’d woken Azura as soon as he returned to their quarters, a freshly-brewed pot of tea in hand.

Her face was half-covered by silky blue hair, and the one eye that was visible beneath this was circled in gray. The princess hadn’t been sleeping well the past two weeks, and Jakob felt a pang of guilt for waking her now. But this was the day. She’d been anticipating it, and it was his job to follow her orders to the finest detail. He nodded at the door, then moved back to the table and set up their tea.

The guard was still posted outside. Iago was cunning enough not to leave her unattended. But the first half of her act wouldn’t require the guard’s attention.

Azura slumped down into a chair and began working away at the tea.

 

-*-

 

Shura let out a long sigh that sharpened into a whistle as he gazed up the incline before him. Krakenburg was something. It made up for how much of a dump much of the rest of Nohr was. Understandable.

He crossed his arms, leaning back against the fence running along the balcony he’d snuck his way onto. Above, walls of flickering red lights circled up and up; a dim blur of gray in the distance was the only sign of the surface visible. He squinted, craning his neck further. Gods, this place was massive.

Luckily, he knew his way around, or at least thought he did. After living underneath the place for a while, his resources had become much more accurate. Floor plans, sections, the structure, and most importantly, where many of the higher-ups called home – information like this is what he’d managed to dig up in the time he spent underground.

Reaching the treasury from the outside might be a pain, since he knew, unlike the sorcerer's room, it didn't contain any windows. But he’d learned his lesson the last time he’d wandered in these halls, and decided he’d much prefer scaling the walls than navigating through the labyrinth that was the castle's interior, surrounded by enemies. But of course, they wouldn’t leave such an opening unguarded. Even at the crack of dawn, the ninja could spot dark figures drifting around the central keep high above, way too big to be pegusi. Wyvern rider patrols would be his greatest foe here. The goal was to not be spotted by them at all. If worst came to worst, he figured his bow could do a deal to them… but he didn’t want to think about that kind of situation. Not when he was about to climb up the 90-degree drop of a hole that might as well have dug all the way into hell.

Cracking his knuckles, the outlaw got to work.

 

-*-

 

Azura’s hands shook around the empty cup in her hands. Her gaze shifted again to the few satchels that sat by her feet, then to the clock on her wall. Two minutes before noon. A shiver ran up her spine as her stomach tossed and turned.

Was this the right plan? Was it all worth it? What if something went wrong along the way?

Fingers rose to curl around an amulet that wasn’t there. No, in the end she was a princess of Valla. This is what she was meant to do. Her heart was set on it.

As the hour hand clicked onto the twelve, her heart skipped a beat. Her legs snapped straight as she stood, satchel in hand. It was time to move.

But when she strolled through the door, the guard cleared his throat.

“…?” Azura glanced over her shoulder, glaring daggers of ice at the man. Her feet felt frozen to the stone floor.

“Lord Iago has told us we’re not to let you leave your room today,” the man stated with a pointed look, as if she’d already committed some crime. “ _Princess_.”

“Tell him it is not proper of him to lock a Princess of Nohr in her chambers like some fairy tale damsel,” she bit back coldly, not letting any of her anxiety reach her voice. “I’ve spent quite enough time in there the past week, as I’m sure you’re well aware of that." That had been purposeful, of course; stay extra quiet in the days before her move to lower their guard. "It would not kill me, nor him, if I were to leave for a few hours.”

Her heart was beating fast as a rabbit’s, now. In the silence that ensued, he might’ve heard it. But the gods were good to her, it seemed, and the guard relented. “Very well. Only because you’ve been such a good girl these past few weeks, staying where you belong.”

A scoff was all the princess allowed him before continuing onwards.

She was lucky. She was too lucky.

Wandering like she had in her youth, Azura found her way to a nondescript balcony branching out from one of the ballrooms she used to frequent. There, she waited, teeth chattering.

After what felt like ages, then, there was the sound of scuffing and grunting. The princess searched the sea of saffron lights that rose up around her. Then there was a _thud_ behind her – and when she turned, she nearly fainted with relief.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Shura sounded out of breath, but was otherwise unharmed. He threw back his hood, casting a disgusted glare at something above them – the wyvern guards? – before meeting Azura’s own desperate gaze.

“No,” she breathed. “No. It… went well, then?”

“Yeah.” The word came out so nonchalantly, but the relief it granted Azura could’ve added years onto her life. “Hit the sorcerer’s place first – snuck in through a window. He doesn’t do a good job hiding his valuables, I must say. I went over to the treasury afterwards - managed to knock out all the guards in that area.” One arm reached over his shoulder as he pulled an arrow from his quiver. The tip was of some kind of black stone. “These guys are specially made to break through glass - either windows, or displays. They’ve got a low range, but they get the job done. Then all I had to do was reach in and grab that dragonstone from its pedestal.” He returned the arrow to its quiver, and patted a bag strapped to his belt. “…nabbed a couple other things while I was at it, too. But I was careful enough not to leave any footsteps. It won’t be until the next patrol comes by and finds out what happens that things could get hairy… but you’ll be gone by then, I'll bet.”

The ninja pulled a pouch from the folds of his cloak and held it out towards the princess. In shaking hands, she took it shook its contents into her palm. Staring back at her was the cerulean stone from the treasury. And hopefully, Corrin’s salvation. "Shura..."

Then he shifted, reaching into another pouch among the many tied onto his gear. This one was smaller and sat lighter in her hand. Azura loosened the string around it. Her free hand flew up to her mouth as she caught sight of her mother’s amulet, _real_ and intact. She didn’t realize she was tearing up, but as she slid the pendant into her hands beside the dragonstone and held it for the first time in years, they dripped down her cheeks and onto her wrists. _Finally._ It was so pathetic of her to cling to such an object, as she still had the robes and songs and dances her mother taught her, but at the same time she’d been left with a gaping hole in her chest without it.

“I’m… glad to reunite you with a family heirloom, Princess,” Shura managed. “Is there anything more you wanted? I could probably still find you passage into Hoshido, if you want to get out of this place…”

Inhaling deeply, Azura clutched the amulet to her chest. “…No. No, I can’t leave yet.” Wiping away her tears, she straightened. “There’s still something I must do. And I assure you, Shura, that returning to me a family heirloom that will probably be ripped away from me again isn’t all that this encompasses… but your part is done.” She summoned up a weak smile, and bowed deeply to the man in the way Corrin had once told her Hoshidans do. “I cannot thank you enough for your assistance.”

After a moment of hesitation, Shura returned the gesture. In the little light provided by the windows around them, he appeared a bit more relaxed, and his thin eyes shone with gratitude. “And the same… for giving respect to a low-life like me.” His face twisted into a grimace. “You’re quite the Nohrian, Princess Azura. I wish you the best of luck, and safety, in whatever the coming years could bring between this place and the rest of the world.”

 

-*-

 

No more than an hour later, Azura was taking her riskiest move yet. The castle’s outermost ramparts contained tunnels through which roads ran, draining down into Windmire. They served as checkpoints, giving entryway into Krakenburg, and within each were stables where visitors could leave their horses. The princess had made her way to one of these buildings. She wore a thick, dark cloak, with the hood pulled far over her head to conceal her hair and most of her face. Weaving between the traffic of guards, tradesmen, and visiting nobles, she drifted through the stalls until she spotted familiar gray hair in the dark.

Jakob held the reins of an old, black mare in his hands. Worry was etched onto his face. Like her, he was also disguised, wearing the clothes of a commoner and a wide, blue hat picked out of his liege’s closet. Despite his obvious concern, the butler didn’t speak as he and Azura walked back out towards the massive castle gates.

“Jakob-“ Azura finally began as their pace slowed.

“My lady, forgive me… do you even _know_ how to ride?” He couldn't keep his tone steady.

“My mother taught me a bit when I was a child,” said the princess.

She didn’t blame him for being on edge. Azura was the one person who had ever paid him respect in his life – besides the few friends he’d made among the other servants, namely Felicia and Flora, before they were hauled off by Garon to that dismal camp in the north, where he suspected Azura was headed. The fact that she might not come back _scared_ him. When was the last time he’d felt real, actual fear? It was unfamiliar and didn’t sit right in his stomach. The fact that he saw the same emotion in Azura’s eyes, her movement, the way she avoided his gaze, only scared him even more.

“I’ll make it back.”

That was all she offered him, before mounting the horse and blending into the throngs of people moving through the gates.

 

-*-

 

It was late in autumn. Cold, acidic rainstorms rolled over Nohr, a plague to the farmers who hoped to get one last harvest out of the year. It filled the high roads with mud and the lowlands with floods. The only people it perhaps benefitted were highwaymen, but even they couldn’t stay out too long without risking illness.

Azura was grateful for the multiple layers she wore as she sat huddled atop the mare. But even so, her bones ached already. She’d rode through Windmire at a brisk pace, her disguise convincing enough for the thieves lurking in the alleys to look the other way. Even with Iago and Garon miles away now, the princess was eager to escape the city’s confines.

But the road had been much more unpleasant than the forboding city. Sure, the openness felt good, and despite how much of a mess Nohr’s scenery was, it had always been a sight for sore eyes. To see the plains and mountains and the clouds rolling above stirred her heart. She felt as though she was breathing fresh air for the first time in years.

But in the loneliness of the wilds, her own doubt skulked back into her mind and trailed her in the shadows on either side of the road. She had to force herself to focus on anything besides it – like how uncomfortable riding a horse was. Doubts were cumbersome, and would do her no good now.

Rain pattered down around her, drips of it rolling off her hood. She kept her gaze on the horizon as night closed in around her, and thoughts of its many threats came to the front of her mind. The princess was hardly equipped to fight off a brigand on her own; her only defense she’d planned was that she would look so poor that they’d ignore her. Another slip-up in her plan... but it wasn't like she had a retainer besides Jakob, who had to hold down the castle while she was gone.

A faint yellow glimmer in the distance told her a town was near – her first destination, though she couldn’t take out a map to double-check in this rain. Azura urged the horse into a trot.

 

-*-

 

“Let me give ye a room upstairs, miss. It can get quite rowdy down here on these rainy nights, and a pretty lass like you deserves a good rest.”

“Here, miss – stew’s on the house tonight!”

“Cold out, ain’t it? You didn’t put your horse in one of the stalls? Here, I’ll show you where they are – nevermind, actually. You get some rest, I’ll get it.”

Azura was just barely outside the city limits, and already she was experiencing a level of friendliness she had never known in the castle. The moment she’d stepped into the noisy inn, she’d felt the fear and emptiness in her heart wither, making way for contentment, even if she didn’t know any of these people and could hardly relate to them. No one questioned her appearance, cast her a look, or was watching her – though she kept her hood up for good measure. Iago had always been a step ahead of her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d left some of his men around to keep watch in case she escaped while he was away.

The room they’d given her was much smaller than her chambers back at the castle, but infinitely more cozy. The floor was wooden with a shoddy maroon area rug in the middle; when she took off her shoes and stepped onto it, it was lukewarm, the heat from the fireplace blazing below lifting through it. She took a few deep breaths, enjoying the humid air and the musky scents all around her. Then she moved to the door, locking it, before shedding the heavy cloak and hanging it up to dry.

Biting her lip, Azura seated herself on the edge of the bed. It felt strange to be on her own, and she was still so nervous, but… again, she reminded herself where it was Iago and Garon were headed. It was so much further away. Mokushu. And that entailed passing through the city of Cyrkensia, where she was certain Garon might spend extra time at, considering his notorious fixation with the singers and entertainers there. She had time to do the things she needed – to eat and rest and take a breather. Regardless of what might await her when she returned to the castle, she’d already stepped off the metaphorical ledge and into the unknown. What was important now was getting to Corrin.

The princess laid back and tucked herself beneath the covers. Even in the warmth they provided, loneliness and uncertainty ate at her heart. Curling up, she let the ambiance of the restaurant downstairs lull her into sleep.

 

-*-

 

The sky finally showed itself, one of the following nights. Azura was growing closer to her destination, judging by the maps she’d brought with her. There was one last inn before the hilly landscape wrinkled and folded into the northern mountains, housing this highly-classified fortress somewhere within. Apparently there’d been many such structures there in the past, built on the front of some old war Nohr had waged with a force in the far north. But currently this single fort was the only active one left. She’d have to depart in the morning and pray she found it before nightfall. Encountering a wyvern in the wild wasn't something she was interested in, or equipped for. And she wasn't going to let herself die lost in some nameless range of mountains, either.

The inn was a blur of light before the spikes that jutted out from the horizon. Her gaze traced the peaks, up to the sky, as the clouds gave way. Her breath caught, and even as a gust of wind blew off her hood, she sat still atop the horse trotting along beneath her. Splashes of black, indigo, and deep violet ran between the cover of gray, littered with bright stars. Even the moon peeked out, a shy crescent that illuminated the path before her. Azura’s shoulders slumped forwards as she stared, until the wind picked up again, blowing the blanket of clouds back over, quickly as if to shroud the sight from unwelcome eyes.

Azura thought of the underground markets, and all the places she’d visited with Camilla, as she tried to memorize the image of the night sky in her mind. A choked sob escaped her throat, but the noise was stolen away by a gust. _What have I been missing out on, all of these years…?_

 

-*-

 

It was her own nerves that woke her before the crack of dawn. Her heart pounded in her chest even as she lay in bed, and for a moment she was dazed as the world around her again came into focus. Outside, a crow called, its cry breaking through the silent morning air. The princess sat up and gathered her belongings.

The sky had brightened by the time she’d mounted her horse and started for the mountains, leaving the meager payment the inn had requested at the counter – she wanted to leave without being spotted. If anyone spotted her heading in that direction they might alert the wrong people…

The mare climbed the path with no trouble, even as it spiraled around peaks and down steep grades littered with gravel. Occasionally, Azura would spot hoof-marks ahead of them in the dirt, signaling that she was headed the right way. But other than that, there was no indicator that she was making progress – once she’d entered the labyrinth of stone, the map had essentially become useless.

Things grew stiller as the mountains around her seemed to curl and twist. Gone were the sounds of leaves rustling against the earth and the whisper of grass; the only noises gracing Azura’s ears now were the rumble of wind as it blew through the chasms, and each heavy step her horse took. Her grip on the reins tightened as they came upon a particularly deep-running crag, the bottom of it littered with rubble cumulated from years of rockslides.

The princess went through a cycle of looking at the ground for prints, the sky for coming storms, and the horizon for any sign of the fortress. Iago couldn’t have cast a cloaking spell on the entire place, could he? No…

Hours rolled by as Azura grew more and more desperate, ignoring the feeling that she was going in circles. With the days having grown short, soon most of the light the sky provided faded to darkness. She contemplated lighting a torch, but decided against it, lest a sentry spot her before she located the fortress. A bitter chill descended upon the mountains, and with it a heaviness in the air that promised rain. In the meager amount of sight the moon’s shrouded light gave her, she pushed onwards.

Then, finally, the glimmer of hope she was waiting for came. Between two enormous peaks in the distance was a smaller outline, and her eyes followed it until she identified a blocky structure resting on the side of a cliff. It was much less grotesque than the slabs of rock jutting up all around it. Dots of orange flickered here and there within its outlines. That had to be it.

Biting down hard on her lip, Azura called the horse to a trot again, keeping the fortress in her sights.

 

-*-

 

Droplets of rain had begun to fall when Azura, as silent and dark as a shade, arrived at the fortress walls. The entrance gate was open, and if there were guards – of _course_ there were – they must’ve been running rounds rather than standing in place. It made sense, in a place this remote. The only threat they probably had would come from ninja, but even then the crown had kept this place’s existence, along with that of its prisoner, a secret. Holding her breath, she dropped off the side of her horse and led it into a patch of black rock beside the wall. Then, taking another deep breath, she stepped through the gate.

The grounds themselves weren’t in bad shape. Someone had been maintaining the gardens, at the very least, and signs of life made themselves known here and there – a spare training weapon lying on the ground, muddy footsteps running up to a keep off to the left… connected to that was a spire that rose up further than Azura was willing to crane her neck, out of fear that her pale skin could catch someone’s eye. Her gaze scrolled to the right… the combat arena certainly seemed like a new addition, as well, and…

_Damn…!_ Sauntering along the perimeter of said area was a guard, one hand raised to his mouth a yawn. He would be rounding the end opposite Azura soon, and then would be facing the gate… Moving clumsily, the girl ran for the keep. When she reached it, safely cloaked in its shadow, she pressed herself up close to its frigid brick walls and took another breath.

There was something she had to do before going to Corrin, wherever they kept her…

 

-*-

 

The maid’s room was not hard to find. It was on the first floor of the fortress’s interior, close to the kitchen. Azura had mistakenly walked into a utility closet first, and was careful to avoid the guard’s quarters, listening before she opened any other doors. Gently, she shut it behind her and stepped in further to assess the two figures lying in beds on either wall.

So it was true – Felicia and Flora were still here, serving the prince. As hostages. The princess knew well of the tensions between their home tribe and the Nohrian crown. They’d kept in good contact with Jakob, though all of their letters sent back to Krakenburg had been read over first by officials to be sure they weren’t saying anything they shouldn’t be. In exchange, he kept them updated on the latest affairs with their tribe, and the well-being of their family. They’d grown much since the last time Azura had seen them, but otherwise were the same – tired and overworked.

A nudge to Flora’s arm was all it took to wake her.

“Hmm… Felicia…? What’s wrong…?”

When the maid came to and found an unfamiliar, cloaked figure standing before her, she could only stare. Slowly, her brow furrowed, and she grunted as she sat up in bed. “What…”

“…Flora,” Azura tried, pulling her hood back.

The girl’s eyes went round. “What-!? You’re… _Princess Azura…?_ ”

“Quiet, please,” urged the Vallite, folding her hands before her. “I will explain.”

Flora was dumbfounded, and shook her head a couple of times before standing up the rest of the way. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and in the back of her mind she could only wonder about the hour. At the princess’s request, she woke her sister, and with anticipation both sat on the edge of her bed, gazing up expectantly at the newcomer.

“I know… that you two are not Jakob. I cannot expect the same loyalty from you,” the girl began to explain, sounding uncertain. “But, please… Hear me out.”

 

-*-

 

The rain outside had picked up while Azura revealed the truth behind the dragon to the two maids. She left out certain details – Corrin’s true identity as the lost princess of Hoshido, and the story behind her capture, among other things. Her heart was racing in her chest as she spoke, words spilling out faster than she probably had ever spoken before. Felicia and Flora might as well have been hallucinating – they found it hard enough to believe Azura had appeared all the way in the hidden-away fortress, and yet… as she explained the details of her plans, her investigations and spying and everything she’d done in the castle, things became clearer.

“I’m… not asking the world of you, although it is an enormous secret to keep,” Azura sighed. “But I figured… given you two were here, you would learn of it eventually, whether I told you or not. It’s safer this way…”

“What of the prince?” Felicia blurted out, earning a glare from her sister.

Azura’s face twisted. “I’ve considered that as well… Ultimately… it seems out of my control. I could tell him as I am with you two right now, but there’s a chance he wouldn’t believe me, or that he would call the guards and jump to conclusions before I can even perform the spell. I just… have to believe that after he finds out, he’ll have a change of heart.” She hadn’t spent time with Xander in so long, she wasn’t sure she knew him anymore. It was an enormous risk. If he was still Garon’s most loyal dog, all her work could come crashing down once he got involved. But she wanted to believe he was better than that, and that the years of the king’s coldness, of a complete lack of empathy for his son, had given him some independence.

The maid’s shoulders slumped, and their eyes flicked to their feet, but they didn’t voice their opinions.

It was a reckless plan. Azura may as well be putting her life on the line for Corrin. But what more could she do? She’d thought about it deeply, considered so many options…

Flora stood, and gently opened one of the drawers in their dresser. Sifting through it, she pulled out an object and held it out to Azura in her palm. A key, the size of her own hand.

“Lady Azura…” Her lips curled into a frown. “Do what you must. Felicia and I have nothing to lose, after all, I’m afraid…”

With a somber nod, Azura took the key. The most they could do was decline out of fear that should something go wrong, they’d be punished for being involved. Cruelly, Azura had essentially already incriminated them just by being present there at the very moment. “Very well. Do not… do not get close until I’ve left the cell again.” _There’s no guarantee the song will work,_ the words sat heavily in the air.

 

-*-

 

_It’s too much._

_The rain pounds against the ground outside, above you, dripping in between the bars. It keeps you from sleeping. A drone in the back of your head, to go along with the constant buzzing. It’s full of it – muddled emotions, too raw and powerful to even comprehend and make sense of. Sometimes it’s enough to make you scream and cry, sometimes enough to make you ram the horns protruding from it against the wall and see how many more cracks you can make in the stone. There’s no relief from it. Here, in this confined space, it only builds up – but when you’re out there, the chains clanging loudly around your legs, that foul-smelling man standing opposite you, it only worsens. You’ve forgotten why that is. It doesn’t even matter. You have enough rage boiling inside you to dismember all of them. All of the men that did this to you._

_Sometimes you hear crying. It’s impossible to tell where it’s coming from, whose it is. On occasion, blurry images will show through the haze in your mind’s eye. Of a young girl with silver hair; her face is scribbled out. She seems familiar. You’ll focus on it, when this happens, when she walks your dreams, momentarily forgetting your desire to break something to instead pursue her. She walks through unclear landscapes, unfinished paintings, and scents float in the air but you can’t pin down what exactly they are, only that they’re familiar. Most of the time, these dreams will end with her either disappearing, or her little twig-like limbs twisting and changing until she’s a reflection of what you look like – that huge, faceless dragon you see in the reflection in the puddles that form in your cell on rainy days._

_A sound breaks through the rain’s drone. A click, a creak – a chain of noises intimately familiar to you. Your muscles burn as you rise, and tense in wait – the footsteps this time are different. Lighter._

_They close in, and your heart pounds in your chest, sounding like an animal beating against its cage. Perhaps they’ve finally come to get rid of you – but you won’t let them. You pounce. They’re overcome easily. One of your claws wraps around their body and holds them to the ground as if they were nothing more than a mouse. Who is this? Their face, scent, presence is familiar to you. You hesitate, jaw hanging open._

_There’s a voice. It’s weak, choked, but there’s power behind it. Your breath catches. All of a sudden, the haze is being parted. It’s difficult, the fog in your mind is so thick and hums constantly with madness, but something cool and solid and stable is moving through it, dissipating the haze around it. The lyrics keep coming, and in your confusion your grip on them loosens and they slip away, voice stronger, completely drowning out the rain coming down around them._

_You flinch and shudder and_ cower _in the face of this intruder and whatever hex they’re casting on you. You expect pain to come, and want to lash out against them again, but you can’t move. You’re trapped, captive to this songstress, as a faint blue glow is now visible in your mind, easing away the burning red cloud around it. You expect pain, but only relief comes. Relief, and a calmness in the never-ending blaze, madness washing away with each wave a verse of the song brought on. There’s identifiable emotions now. Sorrow, fear, and guilt build up in your stomach and behind your eyes. The world around you starts to become strange and malformed._

_…”yet, the waters ever change…”_

_Words? They’re recognizable, understandable, familiar. Your eyes open and tears are dripping out._

_“…flowing like time, the path is yours to climb…”_

 

-*-

 

...

Corrin sat on her hands and knees, shuddering with each breath she took. Water, glowing a faint blue, dissipated into the air and dripped from her armor onto the ground, pooling beneath her, an aftereffect of the spell.

“…Corrin…?”

She knew the voice, she realized. It belonged to Azura. _Azura._  More tears fell, and she began to tremble.

“Corrin… It’s me. It’s Azura.”

The voice was somewhat distorted – her _hearing_ was distorted, as were the rest of her senses. Her neck craned up towards what she thought was the source, but even as she blinked her tears away there was still darkness. “A-Azura…” The sound that escaped her chest was unrecognizable to Corrin.

As she stared wide-eyed into the darkness, that familiar blue glow finally came into her field of vision, and as Azura crouched down Corrin could make out the white outline of a face, but nothing more. A hand placed itself on her shoulder, between where chestplate ended and gauntlet began.

“Yes. It’s me. Corrin…”

“Azura,” it was the only word the shaking girl could manage. “Azura…”

She started talking, but the words drifted past Corrin as she began to cry again. Something about her senses being off after not being human for so long, about a fortress and some ‘Iago’ and this or that… and then Azura took Corrin’s hand, placing an object in it. Something large, with hard edges on it. Her fingers instinctively clutched it, and a feeling familiar to that brought on by Azura’s song came over her once again.

“…dragonstone,” the girl was saying.

Corrin’s brow twitched. She shifted so she was sitting on her knees, and brought her other hand over the rock.

The songstress’s palm rested over her hands one as she explained again, “This is a dragonstone, Corrin. It is very important that you keep it with you, always.”

“…Dragonstone,” rasped Corrin.

Azura’s grip tightened. “The magic in it will let you control the dragon’s blood. I’m sorry I cannot do more for you… but consider this my gift. Or perhaps, my attempt at repenting… for not doing more for you when we were children…”

“Azura…” Corrin’s vision had cleared more, and in the dim light she could now make out Azura crouching before her. Her hair was the same, but her face was a different shape and the fear Corrin was used to seeing etched around her eyes was gone. The beginnings of bruises had formed around her neck, and the dark cloak she wore had one or two holes poked in it.

“Azura…!” She coughed the word out, and struggled to stand, but her legs, so small and unstable now, gave way beneath her. “…Hurt…!”

“Corrin… I wish I could stay here longer. But I’m going to keep fighting, and in order to do that I must return to the castle.” Her brow furrowed. “I wish I could do more… I wish I could get you away from this place, without putting you in even more danger.”

Corrin didn’t understand, but she could do nothing but listen.

“But I want you to fight, Corrin. Never again lose track of who you are. Do that for me.” She knelt down again, and her yellow eyes shone with emotion. “You’ll make it. As long as you have the dragonstone, you’ll make it.”

Then she stepped back, and Corrin felt a chill as the girl's presence moved further away. “A...zura…”

“I hope I can see you again, Corrin. And… I’m not asking you to ever forgive me, but I hope that someday you can understand why I didn’t do more…”

 “Azura…!”

Her cloaked form became a silhouette against the storm outside, and then it vanished.

 

-*-

 

_“I do not want to be disappointed in you, Xander_ ,” King Garon had muttered, after he and Xander had been special guests at a weekly execution on the castle grounds. Traitors and thieves alike had been beheaded before him. There'd never been anything particularly empowering or patriotic to the prince about lobbing off people's heads, and watching their split bodies slump unceremoniously to the floor into someone else's pool of blood. Though the prince had witnessed this countless times since his childhood, it was especially distressing given the tension between him and his father over the dragon. The word  _threat_ had passed his thoughts at some point, but he'd managed to wean that down to something akin to  _encouragement._

Yet here Xander was, as discouraged as ever, in his usual routine of blowing off steam and stress by training late into the night.

A heavy sigh escaped his lungs, and broad shoulders slumped in defeat. Xander knew he could catch cold like this, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. As the swings of his sword lost their fervor, his body temperature began to drop, and the rain only sped up this process. After one last frustrated swipe, the sword in his grasp clattered to the ground, sliding along the tile roofing. His hand lifted to smooth out his hair, and at last the prince decided to head indoors before the light drizzle picked up into something steadier.

Just as he was approaching the door, however, a sound brushed his ears… a voice? He frowned. Maybe it was simply the guards out on patrol... but… Still, the prince’s dragging feet carried him back over to a ledge overlooking the grounds. The courtyards were silent as ever. Perhaps he was just hearing things in his exhaustion. Overlooking the castle walls, the mountains stretched off in every direction, as dismal and lifeless as any other day.

A shiver ran up Xander’s spine as he held his arms together. Time passed, and all seemed quiet. Puddles began forming in the darkness below, flooding the adequately-maintained gardens.

Then, just as he was about to leave, there, in the arena… He squinted. A figure. Distinctly _not_ a guard, unless his mind was playing tricks on him. It was moving slowly, but surely, towards the gates leaving the fortress… He leaned out further, between two of the stone blocks that made up the roof’s perimeter. Gray… a blur of gray… but the shape was familiar. The size was off, but… It almost looked like – the _dragon?_

Panic filled Xander as he rushed back into the spire. His feet carried him to his chambers, where he grabbed a fur cloak along with Siegfried. He blazed down the stairwell, exhaustion long forgotten.

 

-*-

 

“Do you hear that?” Flora looked back towards the keep. They still stood in its shadow; Azura had just departed, and they were about to make their move to take this ‘Corrin’ indoors. But there was a distinct noise coming from the building behind them… like footsteps.

“ _Felicia!”_ The girl reached out and tugged her sister’s arm, pulling both of them into one of the thickets sitting against the wall of the keep. _More_ guards? They’d knocked the three on patrol out – being careful not to cause any severe damage, lest they get too suspicious when they wake – weren’t the rest asleep?

The door slammed open, clattering against the wall just inches from the twin’s heads. Flora covered both their mouths; Felicia was shaking at her side, and hugged her sister close.

_Prince Xander?_

Their hearts beat twice as fast as the man stormed across the courtyard, fur cloak billowing out behind him. No, this was bad – he was going to reach her before they could…-

But the maids could only hold their breath and watch.

 

-*-

 

The figure was limping across the arena. At this distance, it was certainly not the dragon. Up close, their human shape was unmistakable. But a lone intruder? A thief? A Hoshidan assassin? How had the guards allowed this to happen? Heart thumping in his chest, Xander scanned the area again, but saw no sign of patrols.

He stalked toward them, hand resting on Siegfried’s hilt. They were not leaving the castle, certainly not alive. But he couldn’t strike them down on the spot. He’d first need to work answers out of them – who’d sent them, how they’d known about this place…

…Yet when he closed in on the figure – the _girl_ – that was _limping_ on towards the walls, he felt a powerful surge of apprehension hit him, as if he’d just ingested something poisonous.

The way she carried herself, her appearance, her lack of awareness of his noisy approach and the sound the door had made… Something was off. Something was _very_ off about this. Xander’s fingers curled around Siegfried’s hilt, and his elbow twitched, causing the blade to move an inch or so out of its sheath. Pin-needles seemed to crawl up his arm.

“You,” he barked. “Identify yourself!”

Yet the girl didn’t stop. She just kept on wobbling away from Xander, as if she hadn’t even heard him. She was muttering something unintelligible.

The prince bore his teeth and drew Siegfried completely as he strode into her field of vision. “State your…”

“…Azura…”

He tensed. And the girl kept walking, her heavy eyelids not even rising to acknowledge he was there. Her back was hunched, and a thick curtain of hair ran along it, falling on either side of her face. Something about the absurdity of the situation made Xander's body reluctant to move.

“I’m… sorry, A…zura…”

She stumbled; the movement sent some of her hair to the side, and the prince caught a glimpse of armor beneath it. Dull silver plate, covering nearly her entire body. His chest tightened all of the sudden, brow lowering, the physical reaction coming before he could even process _why_ he suddenly felt all that more offset. The girl stumbled again, not able to catch herself this time; she fell into the soggy grass, landing on her hands, and caught her breath before sluggishly crawling onward.

Yes – the armor was gray, a familiar shade of it, a familiar _shape._ It had a design eerily similar to that of the dragon. But… undoubtedly this was a human he was looking at. Setting him off even more were the chains that trailed from the other side of the arena up to just a few feet behind the girl. The size of them...

“Azura…”

_Azura…?_ She’d muttered the word so many times, but only now was it sinking in. Azura – his _sister_ , Azura? Why was this girl…

_“Come back_ ,” she begged, “I… Don’t leave me alone…”

The rain fell harder around them as Xander scoured the grounds again for any other intruders. There were none, though. The clearing between the arena and the walls yielded everything to them, giving no places to hide, but there was nothing to be seen. They were alone. And the peaks looming over them were still black and silent; no armies were waiting atop them.

Rain dripped off his hood before his eyes. It was beginning to soak the thick fabric, and it was cold, each like a needle of ice. The girl was hardly wearing anything beneath the armor – white stripes of skin were visible here and there, no doubt chilled to the bone.

Suddenly the girl collapsed onto her side. She began to shake and twitch on the rough grass that now had a half an inch of water standing in it. Snapped from his gaze, the prince sheathed Siegfried and stepped closer, concern beginning to worm its way into his chest. What was _wrong_ with her?

She stayed immobilized there, completely defenseless. If she was at all aware at this point that the man standing above her could easily skewer her through the chest with his sword – unlikely, since her eyes were either closed or rolled back into her head – she didn’t seem to care. Xander’s jaw clenched. He wanted to know what was going on, but moreso, she needed some damned help. He wouldn’t get any answers from a corpse. A hiss of a sigh escaped him as he looked again from the dragon’s den, to the gate, to the keep. _Damn it… I don’t know where the guards are, but… Something must be done about_ this _first._

Relenting, Xander peeled his hand from Siegfried’s hilt and crouched down to try and gather the convulsing girl into his arms.


	19. Wake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait!! There was one more!

 

His legs were screaming in protest by the time he reached the top of the last stairwell – not only was the thing in his arms surprisingly heavy, but he’d climbed it much faster than usual to avoid waking anyone. The prince shut the door to his chambers; luckily the fireplace was still roaring, since he’d expected to be up late anyways due to training. He tromped over to his bed and dumped the flailing girl there before stepping back and catching his breath. A low rumble of thunder passed overhead.

Sighing, Xander removed his cloak and then his boots, setting both by the door. The action was purely out of habit, done subconsciously, as all of his thoughts were currently centered on the girl. His hands clenched into fists at his side as he approached the bedside and took a better look over her.

Yes, the armor was eerily similar to the plating on the dragon. Strips of it bent tightly around her figure, up her arms and down her legs. It was crooked and off in spots, like it’d been worn out and not properly cared for, and beneath it were frayed clothes – not exactly the warm attire you’d need to be wearing to go venturing out into Nohr’s northern mountains when winter was afoot.

He was no blacksmith, but between his royal education and experience in the craft of war he was familiar enough with armor to know this was no Nohrian build of it. Hoshidan, perhaps, but… it didn’t even resemble anything he’d seen from the neighboring nation, either. It was so strangely made, the design so intricate. As she moved her limbs, or curled a little more into herself, it would fold over itself, almost as if it could shift and adapt to its wearer’s position and size, at least to a certain extent.

She tossed onto her side, facing away from him. Her hair, _Gods_ it was long, reaching below her waist, was tangled and matted and clumped in spots. It splayed across the bed and over the edge, giving the prince a view of the backside of the armor. The sight twisted his stomach even more. The handiwork on the plating was impressive, linking each layer of the armor, crafted almost like an artificial spine. When he blinked, he could only see the dragon behind his eyelids – the same gold-tinged bones that ran up its back.

He tore his gaze from the outfit as she threw herself onto her back again, down to the glowing blue object she held in one of her hands. Gripped, as if it were a lifeline. Her fingers were clenched around it. They were long and stringy and the ends were pointed. The prince’s eyes widened when he realized that was not a glove he was staring at. The texture… He moved closer, taking in an unsteady breath. It was leathery, scaly, almost…

The dread building in his stomach grew, like a surge of water rushing against a dam, and he hesitantly reached out a hand towards the claw before drawing it back and instead covering his mouth with it. _No…_

Of course he’d noticed the dragon’s peculiar claws. Anyone who had spent as many hours as he had sparring with the beast and observing it would. He’d notice them when he’d beaten it back and it would stalk around the arena’s perimeter until its energy returned, and he’d noticed them when his sword or shield was the only thing holding them back from his throat, when they were trying to tear him limb from limb. They were not like wyvern talons, and most certainly not like any bird or woodland creature. What was so offsetting about them was not the four-inch long hooks on the ends. No, they were like human hands. The fingers were a bit long, but they were _just_ like the hands of _men._ Even the way it stood on them was strange – rather than resting on the palms, it used what he could only call knuckles to hold itself upright. Beyond that, the rest was undoubtedly beast – the way the limbs just above them bent was more like a horse. But it had always bothered him. He had plenty of knowledge and knew plenty of folklore about the dragons of old, the extinct dragons that this one was apparently the same as, and they had no mention of… _human_ hands.

He had no doubt what he was now looking at before him was the same claw that’d tried to gut him hundreds of times before.

Blinking hard, Xander stumbled back from the bed. The girl flailed again, and hissed in pain. His fearful stare caught sharp points in her mouth before she closed it again. Beneath the folds of hair on her head, something was protruding, smooth and pointed that would catch the light of the fireplace when she rolled to either side.

The break-in, the whereabouts of the dragon, the guards – thoughts of all of it was drowned in the whirlpool of dread and unease swirling in his chest. Too tense to even move himself, Xander stood there and just _watched_ as the rain outside continued its battle against the fortress walls.

 

-*-

 

An hour passed, maybe two. Gradually, the girl’s spasms ceased, and the swelling unease in Xander had subsided into something more like frost, freezing his insides in place and bringing the faintest, dullest tinge of nausea. At some point, the scales – or whatever that was on her hands –  had disappeared, giving way for the same sickly pale skin that ran up her neck and face.

At last, she appeared to be sleeping soundly… and then as soon as she’d settled, she snapped awake with a gasp, eyes flying open. The prince gasped.

She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, still as a corpse save for her chest that rose and fell slowly, the layers of armor moving with it. Xander, too, found himself staying as still as possible, as if he were standing before a bear, waiting for any kind of movement. Outside, the rain still lightly fell against the stone walls, filling the silence.

Little by little, the girl started to move. First it was her fingers, flexing at her sides (her right hand still clamped around the stone, its glow having subsided some time ago). Then she held her arms before her, staring, then her free hand rose to touch her face, brushing the hair from her eyes. His gaze caught on them – they were huge and bright and _scarlet_ , unsettling to look at, the color of freshly drawn blood. A shiver threatened to run up his spine.

He felt some life return to his lungs, though, as if his blood had begun to flow again, and it was enough to finally raise his voice. Albeit shaky and full of fear, his words were: “Identify yourself.”

She blinked, but didn’t look his way. The clock ticked away. Xander grew impatient. “Identify yourself!”

Her head twisted to the right, excruciatingly slow, and next to the anxious prince she might’ve looked lethargic. Those inhuman red eyes settled on him, tracing up his form before stopping on his face. The prince held his breath. The covers beneath her (soaked with water now, her armor had retained a surprising amount) shifted as she maneuvered into an upright position. She was _so_ pale, her skin near translucent. It grayed around her glinting eyes. Certainly, all Nohrians that were of fair complexion tended have lighter skin, seeing so little sunlight in their lives, but she might as well not have seen the light of day in years.

His jaw clenched tighter.

The girl opened her mouth to talk; a cough came out. Xander steeled himself.

“What is your name? State your business here.” It came off harsher than it should’ve been.

Her eyes flicked down to the sword which he hadn’t realized still sat at his hip. It was sheathed, but the obvious threat was still there. She flinched a little, and then finally spoke. “C… …rin…” Her voice was hoarse. She rested her palm on her neck, as if surprised by its sound.

Xander’s expression pinched as he processed the word. Something-Rin? He was about to demand she repeat herself when she spoke again.

“Corrin,” she breathed, louder, astonished with the word herself. “My name is Corrin…”

 _Corrin?_ Again, that coldness sweltered in the prince’s stomach. _Corrin? As in – no…_

She sat up further, her gaze trained on her hands which were stretched out on her lap, palms facing up, long fingers stretched all the way out. She repeated, more to herself than to him, “Corrin. I’m Corrin, second princess of Hoshido, daughter of King Sumeragi and Queen Mikoto.”

A sharp intake of breath was all Xander’s body allowed him before it locked up completely. No. That wasn’t right. Perhaps he’d passed out on the rooftops while training and was having some lucid dream right now, because there was no explanation for this. The gods were powerful, but they could not raise the dead.

Princess Corrin had been a subject of discourse in the castle conferences and Hoshidan exchanges for years following the battle in Cheve. She’d been killed in the crossfire between the two kingdoms along with her father, Hoshido’s former king, at a mere age of seven. The Hoshidans had been furious enough about the death of their king, and the threat of war had hung over Nohr for a while, causing rapid militarization, recruitment across towns suffering from poverty, and calls of action and demands of loyalty sent to Nohr’s occupied states, such as Cheve. Hoshido’s queen had done the opposite of retaliate, though, and led the already isolated nation to withdraw even more, putting up that damned barrier they’d struggled with all these years…

But the death of the princess – that had started another controversy on its own. Hoshidans, and some more vocal Nohrians, spoke nonstop of the king’s cruelty, calling him a war criminal, a coward, a child-killer, a monster… the rumor – accusation – that his father had lured them there under the guise of a peace conference and then slaughtered them defenseless in the streets had been one thing. Xander’s truth had always been that the Hoshidans had attacked first, used the peace conference as a way to get to the heart of one of Nohr’s most powerful strongholds and then sack it, but the plan had been discovered and snuffed before damage could be done. He’d certainly wondered about the true events, but… he’d been young, and was too scared to question it since. But the princess – murdering the princess, a mere girl, that had fueled the blazing fire that was anti-Nohr sentiments. It had sent the country’s own people to protest, only to be cut down by the king’s forces. It had lost the trust and faith of many, and solidified the loyalty of those in support of the crown. Xander had always hated that fact. Even if he’d known the child was killed in crossfire, that that was the truth, his father was _there_ , the rumors sat heavy on his heart, and he yearned for a Nohr that would prioritize the protection of children in combat no matter the side.

That was the truth he had lived with since he was a child. Princess Corrin was as dead as King Sumeragi himself. There was no reason that some random intruder on one of Nohr’s most important sites that looked frighteningly similar to the dragon in the pit should be claiming her name and identity. And yet, her words shook him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him. “Who are _you_?” The words were laced with hostility. She didn’t meet his eyes.

Xander bit his tongue. There was no harm in telling this defenseless scrap of a girl who he was. In fact, if she was here, shouldn’t she _know?_ Any intruder seeking to sneak all the way in here, gather intelligence on Nohr’s upcoming war weapon or perhaps assassinate the prince should _know_ that the person running this place _was_ the prince.

“I am Xander, crown prince of Nohr,” he replied, carefully, measuring her reaction.

Corrin flinched.

Rainfall filled the silence once more, and a pressure grew in the air. Her lack of awareness at the situation she was starting to seem genuine to the prince. But he needed answers.

“Princess Corrin is dead,” was his blunt statement. “She died nine years ago in the Battle of Cheve. I’m afraid you’ll need a better alibi than that if you plan to fool me.”

She took in a sharp breath, and if it were possible for her to grow any paler she might have. Guilt and discomfort weighed down her shoulders. If Xander wasn’t still so uncomfortable himself he might’ve scoffed, victorious in his accusation.

But she didn’t trip over her words or attempt to explain herself, as he was expecting, as many of the criminals he’d apprehended in the past had, she started to weep. (Well, many had wept as well, but that was beside the point.) She cried and brought her hands up to her face, weaving her fingers into her hair save for one thumb that stayed wrapped around the stone.

“N-nine… years…” she repeated before devolving into choked sobs.

Xander stood there, feeling he was lacking some kind of understanding.

 

-*-

 

“That’s what they told you…?” she finally croaked out, facing away from him. The fire had died down a bit, perhaps weakened by the cool, damp air outside. “That’s what they told you, about me… The _prince_ of Nohr. They told you I died…”

“…Yes,” he stated, masking the unease he felt.

She made a choked noise, more like a scoff than a sob. “The King of Nohr didn’t even trust his own firstborn, then…”

At the mention of his father, Xander stepped forward, agitated. “What are you-“

“And what about the dragon?” His words stuck in his throat. “The dragon you’ve… you’ve been _fighting_ nonstop for however long here… trying to beat some sense or loyalty or whatever into it…” She was gaining confidence in her words, however bitter they were, spitting each out at him from behind her curtain of hair. “What did they tell you of that?”

Xander swallowed as the room seemed to spin around him. The dragon – why was she bringing up…

‘Corrin’ whirled around, glaring at him with those unnerving red eyes. “What did they tell _you_? What did they say? About the dragon – what did they tell you about the dragon after it nearly tore you to pieces years ago, when you were just a squeamish little boy that wandered into the wrong prison!?”

The prince could only stare back. His head was buzzing with confusion. When he was a boy… How did she know about that? He’d never said a word about that incident - …

Her glowering persisted. She might’ve already found the answer written all over his face, however disoriented she was. Nothing. He wasn’t told anything. He was given a book by Iago and a task by his father. That was the extent of it. _Iago_ , one of the least trustworthy pieces of filth in the capital, _known_ for human experimentation, now even moreso for his breakthrough on the Faceless.

Xander felt ill all of the sudden, and a great pressure had built up in his head. He wanted to wake up from whatever nightmare he’d been stuck in.

Corrin had turned away from him again. She folded her knees, then unfolded them; clenched her hands, then flexed them; straightened her back, reached around to run her fingers along the grooves of the spine-like design.

The prince’s eyes glazed over as he connected the dots. If… _somehow_ , what this girl was saying was true – he’d been suspicious before, but what reason did he have to doubt her given how defenseless she was now? How she knew the things she did – and how _Azura_ was involved in all of this? If she was Princess Corrin… then she must have been captured in Cheve on that fateful day rather than killed. Yet they – _they,_ meaning Iago and, whether he wanted to accept it or not, his father – had kept her hidden for some reason, covered up the fact that she was alive and captured. _Why?_ For what reason, unless… unless there had been something to _hide?_ But how did the dragon aspect play into all of this?

Xander moved absently over to a chair and pulled it back to where he’d been at the bedside.  Each of his steps was slow and heavy, fighting the dizziness, and he collapsed onto the seat, his head falling into his hands.

If… she was telling the truth.

Was he to believe, then, that since that day she’d been a captive of Nohr? Under _Iago’s_ supervision? He knew very well what that would entail. Was it his doing that she became a dragon in the first place? Experimentation that led to it? But, no – he knew of occurrences in history in which one of the royal-born’s blood would be so potent that a hybrid-like state was possible. In that case, her claim that she was a princess of Hoshido… But… No, things still didn’t add up.

Xander lifted his head, finding the girl pulling a little more insistently at the crevices in her armor. He opened his mouth to speak, croaked out a dry “You-“, then stopped and stood up again. Fighting the vile queasiness, he moved to his desk, not bothering to light a candle. Frantically, he began digging through the layers of papers and parchments – when had it become so messy, he’d always been so organized – until he found a fresh piece on one of the shelves. A tome caught his eye before he could pick up a pen, however, and, sweat forming on his brow, he shoved it into the center of the tabletop and flipped it open, upsetting a few other notes on castle affair and war council meetings and the such in the process.

Iago’s book, the so-called ‘guide’ on the dragon, Nohr’s trump card against Hoshido. He’d flipped through it countless times, searching the smooth paper and the slanted black writing that scrawled each page for the answer to all his problems. It contained sketches, anatomy, strengths, weaknesses, abilities, other strange and seemingly unnecessary notes… but it’d always felt incomplete. Not just in content. Xander’s fingers brushed the binding of the book; in the center, every couple of pages, there were stubs of paper in the middle, evenly torn out. The spine itself had to be three inches, but there were hardly half as many pages as there should have been. He’d always wondered what the story behind that was, but he’d decided long ago that it wasn’t important, that he _shouldn’t_ rely on the book for his answers in the first place, that as crown prince it was more important to act than to question things.

Now, though, with the near-broken girl curled up on his bed, the dam holding back his doubts had broken. Questions flooded his mind. Questions he shouldn’t even be _thinking_ – not as crown prince.

Trembling hands moved back to the parchment, picking up a pen, numbly writing words onto the paper.

“…What are you doing…?” Corrin’s voice, as quiet as it was, scratched against his eardrums.

Had his brain been functioning properly, he might’ve ignored her question – the information wasn’t for her ears. But he was a mess, and amidst that mess he muttered out, “Writing my father a letter…”

The prince’s pen went back to work, but he was again interrupted when he heard two feet land on the tile beside the bed. Stray strands of hair fell into his face as he turned his neck to glance back at her. Those long, creepy fingers were still wrapped around her midsection, but she’d shifted as if she were about to stand up, and those red pupils were drilling into him from across the room.

“You can’t… do that…”

He waited.

“You… you can’t!” Those eyes widened into circles. Why was she so afraid? “You can’t!! You can’t – Azura, Azura… she’ll… If they find out, they’ll kill her, she wasn’t supposed to… she risked so much coming here…” Xander only observed as the girl began to cry again. “They’ll kill her… they’ll kill her… please… anything but that. I’ll tell you anything, I’ll _do_ anything, just don’t – don’t… If they find out… She could already be _dead…_ ” Corrin curled into herself, the armor bending easily to adapt to the shape. “They’ll… if they find out… they’ll send me back to that place… that place without light…” Something red was gathering at her fingertips – _blood?_ They pulled and pulled at the plates constricting her.

Xander moved so he was again looming over her, staring at the long fingers _clawing_ at her armor. What was she _doing?_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stated. “I need answers from my father. I’m certain he will be shocked to hear that the dragon we were training was actually a hybrid, that a sentient human existed beneath… He’ll treat you accordingly…” The words were sour. What the hell was he _saying?_ “ _If_ that is the truth. If it’s not, and you’re some intruder, well… I’m sure he’ll have you executed. That would be the appropriate punishment for your crimes against Nohr,” he spat. _And if you’re truly… who you say you are…_

“Executed…?” A shaky breath left her, and for a moment the tension in her arms eased. “Executed… I would rather that than being sent back to the spire…”

Xander swallowed. If she was acting, she was doing a damn good job. When had he become so easily shaken?

“…But Azura… No. I won’t let you…” Each word was slow and deliberate, full of a sudden hatred. “I won’t let you get her involved in this any more. I won’t let _you_ punish her any more…!” Corrin’s head snapped up and she threw him a nasty glare; this close the prince could see even the structure of her red pupils appeared different, inhuman. She stood up, and he stumbled back a step or two. Bleeding hands took hold of his shirt just below the collar, balling up the burgundy fabric. The blue stone sat atop the bed, glowing slightly. “ _I won’t let you!_ ”

The shriek snapped Xander from his daze and he shoved her away, hand instinctively going for Siegfried. She spotted the motion in a split second, retreating back until her legs hit the side of the bed. One hand reached back, groping along the covers until it found that stone again. Any trace of ferocity on her face vanished, replaced by fear. His grip on the sword’s hilt loosened as she curled back up into the same position on the other side of the bed, hands tugging at her armor, teeth gritted.

The prince’s chest rose and fell with each deep, shaky breath he took. What was he doing? Drawing his blade on a frail scrap of a girl? But wasn’t it permitted in Nohrian law to kill intruders? As _crown prince_ shouldn’t he have struck her down the moment he saw her on the fortress grounds, knowing she was not permitted here? _Was_ she a frail scrap of a girl, or could she transform back into a dragon right here, and break all the bones in his body with one swipe of her tail? There was no telling what a crown prince was supposed to do in this kind of situation.

Was _that_ what Azura had wanted? Both now, and all those years ago, when she’d handed him that bag of food and sent him to the castle depths?

“…My father. You speak as though you know of him,” Xander tried.

Crimson glinted out from beneath that messy silver hair. “King Garon.”

“Yes.” The prince’s throat tightened, as if his body itself didn’t want to ask the questions pressing his mind. “You… How did you… What sort of encounter with him did you have, that led here…?”

Silence. Then, a coarse, weak laugh. “He really… You were never told _anything…_ not even now, now that you’re _here_ and you’re the one keeping me prisoner? They didn’t pass anything on to you…” She pressed her head to her knees, hiding beneath that coat of hair.

“Enough! I command you to tell me of your involvement with the crown. If all this is true… you were a prisoner of Iago. Did he curse you with that form?”

She curled more into herself. Her fingernails made an ear-grating creak as they clawed at the armor.

“ _Speak_!” It was near the level of a shout, but he was hardly conscious of the rest of the fortress right now, and she’d already near-screamed earlier, so whoever was going to wake up would have. It was unlikely, considering how far up his chambers were and given the rain still pouring down outside.

“He didn’t… Iago didn’t… I-I don’t know…” She was crying again. “He didn’t do that… I remember… it was before that that I…”

“What do you _mean!?_ ” demanded the prince. “Quit your sniveling and speak!”

She flinched. “N-no… It was before… The first time was in Cheve… I was just a _child_ , I was scared, I lost control and they saw and they took me…”

Xander’s blood ran cold. His mind worked tirelessly to keep up with what she was saying and what he already knew. “Who? Who is ‘they’!?”

“ _That_ man! Iago…! And the king…” She whimpered. “I didn’t… know what was going on… I was a child… They _killed_ Father and I lost my _mind_ and he threw me in that spire…”

Her words devolved into sobs, and it was clear nothing else was going to come of this conversation.

The fireplace had simmered down to its last few embers, glowing faintly on the other end of the room. A chill was creeping in through the windows, too. Fatigue pressed Xander all of a sudden. He stood silently as the room darkened.

Corrin went back to grabbing at her armor. Her fingers were still bleeding. Ignoring the pounding in his own head, Xander dragged his feet over to the other side of the bed and leaned down. She didn’t react.

“What are you doing?” Even his voice, strong as it had been minutes ago, was devoid of energy.

“I can’t – I need to… I need to take it off… It feels _wrong…_ Everything feels wrong…” Her words were hoarse after sobbing for so long.

Frustrated, the prince reached down and tugged both her forearms away from the armor. A surprising amount of resistance met his motion. “You’re damaging your hands.”

She shuddered and tugged her arms from his hands before going back at it. “I can’t get it off… I can’t…”

She couldn’t remove her own armor? Xander was too tired to press the issue. Scowling, he moved to the door. Was letting Felicia and Flora in on whatever _this_ was a good idea? He was reluctant to inform anyone of this girl’s existence until he could sort things out more, but the Ice Tribe sisters were practically hostages and already existed at the mercy of the crown, whether he agreed with the fact or not, and he certainly wasn’t going to bathe this girl himself.

When the prince swung open the door, his jaw dropped.

There were the two maids in question, gaping at him in return. Felicia tripped backwards, nearly falling back down the stairwell; Flora reached out and caught her back with one hand without tearing her gaze from the paladin.

For a solid minute, neither spoke.

“Felicia, Flora.” Both maids seemed to shrink.

“D-did you need something, milord…?” squeaked Felicia.

“Did you?” he bit back. “What are you doing outside my door at this hour?”

The two exchanged a guilty glance.

 

-*-

 

 So Azura had told them. _They_ had been meant to fetch this Corrin and later present her to the prince, and plead the princess’s cause. But he had stopped them before getting to that part, as sleep was calling him in spite of his great anxiety. The twins had already made one vow not to speak of the girl, apparently, they didn’t need a second, and it set some part of the prince at ease to hear that the guards had not been killed but just briefly knocked unconscious by the maids to be sure Azura could make her escape and Corrin could be brought into the keep’s warmth without being sighted.

His legs threatening to collapse beneath him, he ordered the two of them to ready a bath for the girl and figure out how to remove her armor. Following that, they were to guard the room until he woke again to be sure she didn’t escape or do anything else dangerous. Xander retreated below a floor, to one of the spare rooms of the fortress left for any potential royal visitors. It was a quarter of the size of the one above, and furnished with naught but the essentials and an old piano. He didn’t even bother lighting a candle before he collapsed onto the bed and let a relieving sleep take him.

 

-*-

 

There had been Azura’s face. She’d sung, sung her out of her madness, and everything had felt numb, as though she’d fallen into an ice floe. As soon as Azura had arrived, then, she was gone, stolen away by the night and leaving Corrin alone, with a glowing dragonstone and an open cell door. She’d limped after the girl as far as her body would take her before falling unconscious again.

In this slumber came dreams. _Memories._ Memories she both had no knowledge of and yet knew, _felt_ that they really happened. She _remembered_ the bouts of mindlessness, banging her head against a cage, the nights full of dreams of eviscerating a long-haired sorcerer, the image of her father’s corpse, how these thoughts gradually melted away into nothing but boundless anger. She’d remembered lashing out against a boy Azura had told her about and then falling into a depression afterwards. Then, a while later, a fateful day; she was finally brought out of that spire and into a pit full of loud noises and strange faces. She remembered snapping as she picked up a familiar scent; a long, delirious journey through wilds that looked so foreign and fantastical, they may as well have been a dream of some story book, and then she was in a new cell. And then, day after day, bout after bout, training with the same man that had killed her father. She couldn’t recognize his sin by then – she’d been too far gone, but his face and the smell of his blood was similar enough to set her off. Her nights were full of plotting, how she could overcome him the next time, how she could break her chains and storm back into that dreadful castle and pick apart every piece of Nohrian filth there until the need for destruction sitting in her gut was satisfied.

It had all felt so meaningless, looking back. How had she allowed her feelings to degrade into insanity like that? But it’s not like she was some thoughtless animal; even in that state she had made conscious decisions, had learned and plotted and brooded. But there was no logic and no restraint.

She felt like she was watching someone else’s life, seeing the memories and absorbing every detail. Her chest felt hollow, now that it was devoid of that burning that’d occupied it for so long, like a candle that’d been doused in water. But at the same time there was so much more swirling inside her now, emotions she’d forgotten about, and they made her heart feel like it was twice as heavy beneath her ribs.

Then, the world had reappeared before her. It was warmer, much warmer. It was softer, too. And she didn’t feel numb; instead she was acutely aware of herself, of her body that felt foreign. A blur of brown sharpened into a familiar object stretching a ways above her… she wracked her brain for the word. A map. She tried reading some of the words on it. Her chest rose and fell as she took in a breath; the action was sloppy considering she was used to having much larger lungs.

There had been a voice. It had taken her some time to decipher the words. Was it talking to her? She’d looked to her right, at someone’s legs, up a vest, and had settled her gaze on a face.

It had been a strange sight. She recognized the boy, man, whatever that was standing there, and yet the emotions that had usually overwhelmed her at the sight of him were… not quite absent, but dampened. They hadn’t blinded her.

It had felt good to remember her name. Good, and scary. Corrin. Azura had called her that many times. Lots of people had. People left in the past. Reality had begun to sink in. Her father and mother – their faces were clear again. They’d always tell her the proper way to introduce herself as a child, and she’d never listened, always opting for something simple like ‘I’m Corrin!’ but now she’d slipped into that formal introduction so easily.

The man confirmed himself as the crown prince, Azura’s older brother, Xander. Corrin had already known, but hearing the confirmation sent fear through her whole system. The crown prince – the loyal sibling, Azura had always said, the one closest to Garon. Garon, who had locked her up, who had forced her to become something she didn’t want to be. “ _You are my child now.”_

And then, _nine_ years. The words had brought burning bile to the back of her throat. She’d been imprisoned longer than she’d been _alive._ Even though she’d regained her humanity, she didn’t feel human, not with that fact sitting in the front of her mind. Nine years. Azura may have brought her out of her insanity, but it still felt as though Nohr had succeeded in stripping her of her identity.

Time passed after he’d said that, but she didn’t really notice. Time hadn’t felt real for a while now. They went back and forth for a bit, and she found she didn’t know how to talk to him. It was certainly due in part to her being robbed of human interaction for so long, but she was also confused by his reactions; he seemed bewildered, and the way he tensed and paused after each sentence she choked out made the idea that he _hadn’t_ consciously been part of King Garon’s plans for her seem less like a total lie.

But her mind was functional enough to come to the conclusion that she wasn’t going to live. The crown prince would either kill her now or turn her into his father. If the latter happened, she’d at least have the sense to gut herself before she could be thrown into insanity again.

After all, what was there to live for?

Nothing, nothing besides Azura, at this point.

 

-*-

 

Beneath her armor, whatever clothes she’d had on were mostly torn apart. The metal suffocated her as she sat in a cold sweat. She was much too drained from the transition back into humanity to think about much. And she was much too distracted by her body, the limbs and size and everything felt _wrong_ , like she was wearing the skin of someone else. But the scarier thought was of returning to her dragon form, so she held the dragonstone tighter as she tried to pry the metal off of her. It hurt, it was dirty, it felt wrong on her, all of it was wrong. It needed to come off. _It needed to come off._

When she was brought back into reality, there were two new faces in the room, and the prince was gone. They looked exactly alike, and she had the feeling they were girls. They were staring curiously at Corrin, and stood a good distance away. Even with their hands folded behind their back, she could see they were quivering in fear.

“…We’ve readied a bath, my… lady…?”

The words didn’t mean much to her, but after a few tries she allowed them to guide her into some other room because their presences were soothing (moreso than that of the prince). She didn’t process much else of what they said. The room they entered was brighter, lit by a number of candles, and she spotted a steaming tub of water in the back of it. Smells floated into her nostrils and calmed her anxieties, though she couldn’t put a name on any of them. One in particular reminded her of home, some flower in a long-forgotten garden perhaps. She remained silent, willfully allowing the two to figure out the bindings on her armor until finally it clattered to the ground and her skin could breathe.

As the maids continued to fret and buzz around the room, Corrin’s eyes were drawn to a looking glass that sat atop a sink. She deadpanned for a while before realizing the person standing in it was herself. It was like getting punched in the stomach. Her skin was an unhealthy pale, and her body was unrecognizable. She stood taller; long legs moved up to wider hips and a shapely torso. Her face was thin and sharp. Her hair was absurdly long, curling and tangling together until it frayed off below her waist. The only recognizable part of her body seemed to be her eyes… they’d always been a red her family was curious about. She’d hated them, too, wishing she’d had the same dark eyes as everyone else. Now they brought her relief. They told her this reflection was hers.

Again, she felt ill.

Voices spoke up again. Blinking, Corrin realized one of the maids was looking at her. Five freezing-cold fingers placed themselves gently on her shoulder, and she flinched. The girl peeped out something about the bath, then urged her forwards. Corrin eyed the bubbly water, dark with lines of orange moving through it from the candles lit all around. The heat coming off the water’s surface, at least, was inviting, and bracing herself, she stepped into it.

The next hour or so was spent in the tub. Corrin relished in the relief the hot water brought to her stiff muscles, making her reshaped body feel more natural to her. The maids worked at her long hair as if she were a doll, but she was hardly conscious of them. At one point she was handed a brush, and for a solid minute Corrin struggled to remember what to do with it before she started scrubbing at her oily skin. She knew there was no washing away the vile thing she was capable of turning into, and submitted to this fact.

After a while, the maids left her alone. In the relief the water brought, Corrin found herself thinking. Her body, that felt so foreign… when was the last time she’d been like this? It had to be at some point when she was with that astral dragon, Lilith. There was no telling where _she_ was, now. But Lilith had accompanied in her cell, before she’d been moved away and had settled into her dragon form. She remembered how nice the grass had felt beneath her fingers in the astral plane, how soothing the peach-scented wind was, and laying her head onto Lilith’s lap as the girl worked braids into her hair. She remembered a building. Dragon’s veins, the astral dragon had told her, ran through the astral plane and could be used to shift the land. It had taken Corrin many tries to put together four walls and a roof… then they’d crafted a small bookshelf out of wood of one of the nearby trees, and filled it with many of Azura’s tomes she’d managed to keep hidden away, but it seemed like just as they’d finished it her time with Lilith had come to an end.

A long-winded sigh escaped Corrin as she sat back, resting her neck against the rim of the basin. She was in an unknown place, probably still surrounded by enemies, Azura might not be safe, but at the very least she had her humanity back.

 

-*-

 

Eventually the maids returned, probably to make sure Corrin was still conscious, and had helped her from the tub. They finally gave her some space when she was bundled up in a towel. Corrin stared at herself in the mirror again until she felt exhaustion sink in. After baths, people normally went to bed, didn’t they? That’s what she remembered, even if she couldn’t think of why right now. Her sweeping gaze tripped over a pile of clothes sitting beside the doorway, folded neatly.

A white button-up shirt, just like she’d read of Nohrians wearing in the books. It was much too large on her. It smelled strongly of one of the scents that’d been used in the bath, she wasn’t sure which. There were some black leggings that went with it. She wriggled into both, and the fabric felt strange on her skin, just as the water had.

Corrin wandered out of the washroom, and was again greeted by the salmon-haired maid on the other side. Her touch was gentle as she guided the girl to a bed (it might’ve been the same one she had been in when she woke up, she wasn’t sure). All the remaining candles in the room were then blown out, save for one, and the maid leaned up against the door, occasionally casting a nervous glance towards the bed. The other one was gone, standing on the other side, perhaps. A shade of smoke hung in chilled room, and Corrin clumsily moved her body under the covers.

It took a long time for sleep to come to her, despite her exhaustion. She was too aware of herself, of her strangely-shaped limbs and how different her senses presented the world to her.  She wondered if she’d forgotten how to fall asleep. The effect wouldn’t wear off overnight, would it? No, Azura had said as long as she had the stone, she would be okay. Corrin held it closer to her chest as she buried her nose into the pillow. Praying for the girl’s safety, sleep finally embraced her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xander was an ass here, wasn't he? He'll come around eventually though, he's just a bit confused.
> 
> (also i cant believe its now officially 100% canon that he cant swim LMAO thanks feh)


	20. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azura makes her return to Krakenburg, dreading the consequences of her plans, but prepared to deal with them all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feat. a cameo from Totally-Not-Clive

The fortress had just disappeared from Azura’s sights when it began.

She’d _known_ it would come. Even if she hadn’t sung _Lost in Thoughts_ with the intent to invoke its magic in quite some time, she hadn’t just _forgotten_ about its aftereffects. But there had been so many other things she’d had to consider in her plan that held higher priority.

Now, things were starting to look bad.

The downpour was chilling; low-lying clouds stuck to the cliffs around her and ran sluggishly through the peaks above. As her mare trudged on, Azura felt the slightest burn on her right ankle. Had it been any other time, she’d have paid it no mind. But she knew what was coming, she’d just sung the song, and she grimaced, urging the horse into a gallop.

It was quicker to spread this time. The air was like molasses as she struggled to breathe, and it wasn’t long before she could feel her limbs going numb. Leaning forwards, the princess wrapped her arms around the horse and buried her head in its mane, hoping the spell would past as quick as it had in the past.

But the gods were not that kind to her, it seemed. The burning continued, and she knew the cursed Vallite magic had coated her skin now. She lost balance and slipped from the saddle, but could do nothing to stop herself, as her muscles refused to respond. She landed hard against the rock, on her side, and could only gasp as a sharp jolt shot up the arm that’d taken the brunt of it. The rain continued to pour down in sheets, drenching her head beneath her hood and soaking the thick cloak. _This isn’t good… this isn’t good…_ Though everything around her was dark, she could tell they were still in the mountains, they still hadn’t left… It was too dangerous to lay out here, she knew, wyverns and bandits would be about…

Azura fought unconsciousness off, thinking that the spell would fade with time and then she could be on her way. A few feet away, the horse stood idle. If she could just climb back on…

The rain pounded relentlessly down on the path, forming puddles around her. _Why_ hadn’t she thought more about this? Considered what would happen? Perhaps she should have waited it out at the fortress… If she didn’t make it back alive, then… then…

After a while, there was a crack, and a thud, some distance behind her. Following this was a sharp roar. _Wyvern._ There were enough seconds of silence for her nerves to ease… then the horse let out a cry, and jolted, the rhythmic clop of its hooves fading into the storm.

Shuddering, Azura’s vision went black.

 

-*-

 

Jakob had never been more anxious in his life. Certainly, the fact that Azura had been out three more days past when she was due home made up a considerable amount of his worries. Unfortunately, looking after her was one of his main ways of coping, too. Making the tea, doing laundry, preparing dinner, attending balls, so on and so forth. His routine was broken, and that created even more off-time for him to fret over the princess’s safety.

More often than not his feet carried him around the perimeter of Krakenburg, checking the traffic flowing through the gates leading out of town for her head of blue hair. But he knew better than to linger too long; most important was covering for her. Carrying trays of food to her room as if she were still there, cleaning, even talking behind the door as though he were holding a conversation with her – all of that was done to convince the guards that nothing was amiss, even if they hadn’t seen Azura go in or out of the room in over a week. But their gazes had been growing more and more suspicious lately.

It was early morning that he finally spotted her. Dawn came reluctantly, refusing to light the sky, but the torches sitting around the gates offered enough visibility for him to find the stray blue locks hanging out of a tattered hood.

It took all he had not to run through the flow of townsfolk and pull her aside. Jittering, Jakob meandered through the crowd until he walked alongside her. With his elbow, he gave her arm a nudge, and she glanced to the side. Her eyes widened with recognition once they reached his face.

Despite the circumstances, both knew that discretion was needed, so they made their way to her quarters in silence. They shoved their disguises into one of her bags once they made it indoors. Jakob couldn’t help but gawk at how disheveled she appeared. And she was limping.

The guard on duty only tossed an eyebrow at them from beneath his hat when they passed. Thank the gods, the butler had thought.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, once they were back in her quarters. “I really am, Jakob.”

“’Sorry’…” Jakob scoffed. For as much time as he’d spent worrying, his tongue was tied.

“I ran into some trouble in the mountains… I lost track of the horse, it jolted… it wandered back to an inn nearby, but going that distance on foot made me lose a lot of time,” she sighed.

“’Trouble…?” He tilted his head at her, unaware of the nasty expression he’d put on.

Her eyes flicked to the ground. “That’s… not important. I… accomplished the errand I’d set out to do, that is what matters.” She glanced up. “Have you heard from them yet? The maids.”

Jakob wasn’t very content to give up the topic right now, but he supposed he had no choice. “No… They may first be waiting for me to write them.”

“…I see,” hummed Azura. “Well, we should see to that next, then. And make no mention of my troubles on the way back…”

She trailed off mid-sentence as Jakob tromped off onto an adjacent room, boots clicking against the tile. The princess drifted after him, leaning against one of the doorways. He’d lit up a storm of candles in the washroom.

“What is it, Jakob? The letter…”

He reappeared in the bedroom, fair complexion all scrunched up. “Before you’re doing _anything_ , you are going to bathe and take a rest. Gods know you deserve one. Do not dawdle.”

“A-alright, just… let me check the fireplace-“

“ _Please_ , milady-“

Jakob reached out, grabbing her by the elbow. It was a gentle hold, he wouldn’t dare treat the princess roughly, just enough to get her attention, since she was so out of it – or so he thought. A cry leapt from her. The butler’s hand flew back. “L-lady Azura…!?”

She stared down at the limb, taking deep breaths. “I…”

Jakob’s face couldn’t have been redder. “My lady! You _are_ injured, aren’t you!?” He fretted for a moment, buzzing around her. “Were you planning on saying something!?”

“J-Jakob…” The princess wavered, backing away from him. He again noticed her sloppy posture. Her limp wasn’t just soreness from being on horseback for a while. “My apologies – when I fell off the horse… my arm and leg…” Her eyes closed; sweat was visible on her brow.

“ _Fell off!?”_

 

-*-

 

Jakob was like a bee, flitting around Azura as she sat on the edge of her bed. She lost track of what he brought her to drink, what he applied to her wounds, and thought absently that the boy had gotten rather skilled at the role of a healer.

Her thoughts returned to the night of her fall, following her meeting with Corrin. When she’d woken, she’d found herself in the same inn from the night before. The innkeep had been fretting around the bedroll she lay in, not unlike how Jakob was now. Her daughter was there, too, eyeing Azura from beneath curly black bangs. They’d apparently done what they could to dress the wound on her arm and right leg. It hadn’t been much, but the sling they’d provided had proved useful. A maid had shown up in the night carrying her, they’d told her, and wordlessly dropped her off before disappearing. She wasn’t certain why Felicia or Flora had followed her instead of doing as she’d asked and taking Corrin to safety, but she supposed she should be grateful.

She had lied to the innkeep about her origins, again, of course, saying only that she’d taken a fall. “I was out practicing my riding in the fields just south of here,” was her excuse. Even that had raised their brows in suspicion, since the highlands were crawling with bandits this time of year. Azura then slept half the day, and in the afternoon insisted on departing despite her condition. “I have to get back to Father, he’ll be worried,” she’d told them. It’d been hard not to choke on the word ‘father.’

Her horse, luckily, had wandered back down, not far from the north road; the keep’s daughter had brought it in to the stables when she’d found it nearby that morning.

Azura had ducked in and out of towns, moving as fast as she could. What had been important was getting back to Krakenburg before Iago. She’d finally abandoned the sling before reentering Windmire, drawing the cloak closer around her, biting her lip hard as the pain returned. All the while, a nasty fever crept up on her. If she could just get back, she’d told herself, it would be fine. She could collapse in bed and everything would be okay, she’d done what she could for Corrin…

-

Once Jakob had pampered her enough, he helped Azura off to the infirmary. She didn’t have the energy to voice her objections. The place held bad memories for her; everyone had always known her face there. She would go at her weakest, when she’d just been beaten by noble children only to be scorned and talked down on by the nurses. With Iago’s stench all over her, maybe they would pay her some respect now.

Things became a blur as she felt another hot flash hit her. The castle melted into a river of saffron and mahogany and silver until they arrived at a long corridor. Windows lined the right wall, bathing the many cots lying against them in light, while at least doors lined the left. All sorts of nurses and healers ran in and out of them. It was baffling to watch.

Jakob was familiar with the place, and he greeted a few nurses as he guided Azura further into the hall. She eyed the beds. Many were empty; a few held people with gruesome injuries. Was that where she was to go…?

The question must have slipped out, because she heard Jakob say, “For now, perhaps. They’re preserved mostly for emergency care, so long as the patient doesn’t have something contagious. Ah – nurse?”

They chattered some more. Azura’s eyelids were beginning to droop closed on their own, and her forehead was practically sizzling. There was a gentle tug on her left arm, and she hobbled along again, feeling another person supporting her right side. More talking. She was seated on a stiff bed; the sheets smelled faintly of blood. Two clammy hands placed themselves on either side of her head and a nurse looked into her eyes. “We’re going to push some things back into place, milady. Please, take care.” She was handed a rag to bite down on. Then there was a _crack_ so sudden and painful that she felt it in the back of her skull, and again, the princess passed out.

 

-*-

 

 

The infirmary was soothing. Azura watched with glazed eyes as medics swam in and out of the many adjacent halls and rooms, attending to each cot lining the corridor, caught up in their responsibilities. It was another world entirely… like observing a school of fish from behind display glass. Occasionally, Jakob would stop by, fretting until a nurse shooed him off. If the healers were bad-mouthing her or neglecting her, she was too woozy to tell. More than a few times, she thought she spied one of Iago’s men loitering in the corner of her eye.

After a while, though, they’d done what they could with her; her arm – fractured – and her leg – the ankle badly sprained – were all wrapped up and tended to. Her fever waned enough so that she felt sober, like herself again, and they cut off whatever medication she’d been on.

“We’re moving you to a separate room, Lady Azura,” a nurse was saying. The princess thought she recognized her, but most of them looked so similar; young girls with small frames and tired eyes, the only thing distinguishing them were their hair and skin colors. “After all, we’ve already held you here longer than we’re supposed to, because you’re _technically_ a princess.” She reached over, helping Azura to sit up. “This hall is for patients needing emergency care, and we’ve just gotten word that a party within the National Guard ran into some Faceless out in the boonies and their wounded will be on the way, so we’ll need all the free beds we can get.”

“I understand,” responded Azura, not really caring. It would be nice to have a place to herself again.

They moved through a maze of hallways. The princess likened herself to a slug as she staggered along after the nurse, wobbling against the crutch they’d given her.

The room was bare essentials, with one wide window looking out over the castle on the wall opposite the door. The infirmary was on the ground floor of Krakenburg’s excavated core, for ease of access. Somehow, it felt like a privilege; Azura’s quarters were lower, apart from the castle’s busiest sections. The nurse helped her into a bed. The mattress was a bit nicer than the emergency-care one, definitely not a feather bed, but she was so used to it by now she hardly minded. The scent of blood was more muted. She then lit a candle and brought the white curtains back all of the way, before giving the princess a brief rundown on her condition and leaving in a rush.

It’d been five days now, since she had returned. Jakob had informed her of the king’s arrival yesterday morning. She grimaced. It was only a matter of time before Iago came to her with some kind of suspicion. The robbery and missing dragonstone seemed like a first priority. Her fingers brushed around her neck, where the amulet was absent again; Jakob had assured her he’d returned it to its place in Iago’s chambers before anyone had spotted either of them with it.

It was two more nights before the word she was waiting for finally came.

Azura was urged awake by a nudge at her shoulder. Another faceless nurse loomed over her, the candle on the nightstand casting strange shadows around her eyes and nose. “Lady Azura…?”

Leaning onto her good arm, the princess pulled herself upright. “…Yes…?”

“Word from the King,” the girl said, voice cold as ice. “He wishes to meet with you in the throne room, immediately.”

Azura opened her mouth to reply, but a yawn came out instead. When she blinked her eyes clear, the nurse had already left.

 _King Garon…_ her skin crawled. When was the last time he’d called her personally to the throne room? But it wasn’t like she hadn’t been expecting something like this, after all that had transpired.

A summon this early in the morning didn’t seem unusual considering he _was_ the king, but as she slid out from the covers and tested her weight on her foot, Azura absently wondered if he even _did_ sleep. She steadied herself on her crutch, and started for the door. The hallway beyond was as busy as the streets of Cyrkensia, and the princess’s thoughts halted. How was she to get all the way to the throne room, limping like this? Not to mention the layout of the infirmary on its own was unknown to her; she didn’t even know how to get back to the main hall. Was someone supposed to escort her? It was the king himself that wanted her, after all. Where was Jakob? Hadn’t someone sent for _him,_ if anyone?

Each time she’d reach out to a coming nurse, mouth opening and half a word falling out, they’d fly past her before she could even finish a sentence. Azura leaned heavily on the crutch, as her shoulder grew sore. There was some feeling in her chest, like it was getting crushed, and she recognized it as unimportance. She wanted to slap herself for thinking she was above any of the other patients here in the first place.

So, as she had many times, Azura picked herself up and trudged on alone.

 

-*-

 

“Azura…”

The throne room felt empty without the glint of Iago’s eye. Azura felt sweat on her brow as she approached the king, atop the layer she’d already worked up just finding her way to the keep. Her crutch might as well have been a slab of stone in her grasp; each click against the ground was as loud as thunder, and it would creak each time she put her weight on it. Both noises persisted until she reached the stairs and knelt down, carefully setting the object to her side.

“…Your Highness, King Garon.”

Even if it was very likely she’d be given some horrible news in this moment – that Corrin had been discovered, that they’d figured out she’d left Windmire, something like that – Azura was prepared. She’d mastered her emotions and put steel walls up around her heart. She was prepared… even if she did dread such a result all the same.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, the war is progressing, even if we’ve been unable to make it very far into Hoshidan territory,” rumbled the king. “We’re working on a solution for that…”

Azura was aware, but she remained silent.

“I’ll get to the point. The Nohrian war machine needs all of the soldiers it can get.” _What is he talking about?_ The princess furrowed her brow. “How is your proficiency with weapons? My advisors will have an easier time placing you if they know your specialty.”

The pause this time was longer, signaling to the songstress that she did indeed need to answer, dumbfounded as she was. She tensed. “…I… never received formal training in any capacity, your majesty.” What did this have to do with Corrin? With her shadow-games she’d played behind his back, going directly against his orders and her vow of silence on the issue? “I am untaught in the art of war.” _Shouldn’t he know that?_

The king growled, a noise that shook her very bones. “As I suspected… Starting as soon as you are released from the infirmary, you are to begin combat training. I don’t care how it is you get there; I want you fit for battle.”

It was like time had slowed down. What was he talking about? Training? Why was he just _now_ ordering this? How could she possibly be preferred over any other Nohrian soldier?

She frowned, head still ducked so her chin nearly touched her collarbone. Perhaps this was Garon’s way of getting rid of her – sending her off to some battle with the odds stacked against her, and having her get killed by Hoshidans. Nohr would lose a princess, but to war rather than shady infighting. But it didn’t make sense to go to such lengths. Why not execute her on the spot? Garon wasn’t the type to concern himself with rumors. And if she was dispensable now, she may as well have been dispensable years ago, after they’d stopped using her as a tool to study Corrin. Why not kill her before, if they hadn’t had _another_ use for her in mind? She knew the king would not have hesitated to do so. And Iago – he and his guards had kept her from getting kidnapped, and discouraged mistreatment of her by the other nobles. Why do such a thing for the daughter of a dead, despised queen, if they were planning on feeding her to the dogs in the end, no matter what?

“ _Is that understood,_ child…?” The edge to the king’s tenor was enough to send a shiver up her spine.

“…Yes,” she replied – not like she had a choice.

“Good… Furthermore… Iago had business with you, but one of his guardsmen called him away some time ago.” _Iago._ The word could’ve made Azura retch, was she not kneeling before the king. Of _course_.

And as if he’d just been called up in the next act of a circus, said sorcerer arrived with flourish. The doors flew open, bringing a gust of air that rustled the vines and standards hanging from the ceiling and blew out a few candles.

“Your majesty!”

Iago sounded especially smug today. Azura didn’t bother masking the scorn that came over her as she directed her gaze over her shoulder. She caught his brief smirk before her attention was stolen away by another sight.

Accompanying the sorcerer were two of his guardsmen; one was dragging in someone behind him. Long leather boots scuffed as they stumbled across the rug, and an indigo cloak fell off the boy’s shoulders, tattered and scorched here and there. She’d almost fainted at the outfit alone, because at first glance _it was Shura –_ how could Shura have been captured... But above the cloak, white waves tumbled around a face with one eye, distinctly not Hoshidan. It took all of Azura’s willpower not to show her surprise. _Leo’s_ retainer? His hands were bound together in front of him – like _that_ could stop Niles, of all people – and they’d tightened cloth around his mouth, too. He was visibly grinning around it. The guard tugged harder, and he stumbled.

“It only makes sense that lowborn scum would break conditioning and return to its natural behavior at _some_ point,” mused Iago, reaching the end of the hall and bowing deeply to Garon. He measured up Azura; the princess caught Niles’s eye for half a second before she directed her attention forward again, keeping her mask of coolness on, giving nothing of use to the sorcerer.

“Explain yourself, Iago,” grumbled the king, resting his chin in his palm as Niles was shoved roughly to his knees by a plate boot. He landed next to Azura with a grunt. “Who is this…?”

“Erm… the young prince’s retainer, your majesty,” stuttered Iago. It came as no surprise to the princess that the man had forgotten. “The street rat he adopted… He’s been under the radar since he was brought here, playing along, but it was only a matter of time…”

 _What the hell is_ he _talking about, now….?_ thought the princess, peering over at a slumped-over Niles. His good eye met hers, and he shrugged.

 _Not the faintest idea,_ he seemed to say.

If it’d been anyone else lugging the archer in, she’d not have blinked an eye. But Iago, and at a time like this, when she was here… though he had an inflated ego, the sorcerer was no buffoon. Azura swallowed the dread forming in her throat.

“And so, I bring you the man responsible for the break-in at the treasury.”

The princess had to chomp down on the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping. She could feel Iago leering down at her as he spoke.

“…We’ve had dead leads, up until now. One of the residents here – a second son of some Chevois family, currently here courting a veteran paladin in the royal army – said the day of the incident, he’d been in the vicinity of the treasury, and spotted a shady figure coming from that direction around the time of the break-in. No sooner was he assaulted, his head knocked against the ground, and his purse stolen from his person.”

The door clicked open again, and another figure strolled up to the throne. Azura glanced over her shoulder again. (Niles did not, but his smile widened behind the gag.) Nothing stood out about the man. He was perhaps in his late twenties, with fair skin and smooth blonde hair that curved around the back of his head. A large nose sat between blue eyes, and a mole made its home just to the left of his chin. He had a wide frame, and it wouldn’t have been easy to simply pick him up and ram him against the ground as Iago had described, not without skill in hand-to-hand combat. He was a little peculiar, Azura noticed as he stepped forward; his face was clenched as if he’d just eaten something incredibly sour.

He spared a glance over at Niles before dropping to his knee on Azura’s left. On her other side, the archer seemed to be radiating an aura of malevolence, and the curve of his lips became a bit more wicked.

Iago continued his tale. “He was lucky not to sustain permanent damage to his brain, but after some time in recovery, he was able to recall the thief’s appearance. Apparently, he was dressed exactly like our little adopted urchin here; a dark cloak with ruffles, striped tunic and trousers, fancy little leather boots…”

“…And white hair,” spoke the noble, voice deep and subdued. “Your majesty… Forgive me if I speak out of turn. It’s just… I had happened upon this man in that area many a time before, and as fate would have it I’d spotted him earlier that morning, as well, as I was leaving for breakfast… Heading towards the same place, and equipped in what looked like full battle gear. Truly, he was armed, with a bow and full quiver rested on his back.”

Niles groaned behind the cloth. Azura, too, wanted to scoff. Armed? Krakenburg had armed guards aplenty. There were armed guards standing outside the doors of the audience hall, as they spoke. (Come to think of it, she remembered Garon always keeping his guard _in_ the throne room, when had that changed?) Niles was a _royal retainer_. Apparently, this man wasn’t accustomed to having characters like him in his own environment. Or maybe he just hated the lowborn – there were plenty of those types in the castle.

Garon didn’t look any more interested than before. “Very well. Punish this man as you see fit.”

Azura gaped up at the king. _What…!?_ Apparently, she’d made some sort of noise this time, because Iago finally found reason to address her. His golden sandals and feathered cape soon blocked her view of Garon. The princess craned her neck up, and found that Iago’s mug was particularly ugly at this angle.

“My. Do we have a problem with this judgment, Lady Azura? What might someone like you know, about the robbery?” His eyebrow was arched, hands on his hips. She had never before wanted to see a smug look wiped off someone so much.

Silence hung in the air. She didn’t dare meet Niles’s gaze, which she could feel pressing her. It was foolish of her to expect Shura to do a perfect job – he might’ve known the castle structure and patrol schedules, but not its _people_ , not the money-hungry nobles who’d go wandering the treasuries and have fantasies of what one day could be theirs. She assumed that even if someone had remembered the intruder’s appearance, it wouldn’t matter; all Nohrian outlaws dressed in the same sort of getup, purposefully to avoid identification. It could’ve been _any_ kind of break-in, from _any_ Windmire thief gang. They could have taken the dragonstone thinking it was a regular gem.

She hadn’t thought about Niles – the boy whose presence in the castle in the first place had sprouted from an attempted heist. Who _still_ dressed like a cutthroat, and was perhaps as notoriously unpopular with the rest of Krakenburg as she was.

A lock of blue hair fell between her eyes as she lowered her head. She couldn’t stand up for Niles, or she’d rouse suspicions that she’d gone so far out of her way to avoid. Iago was likely already on her case for having not personally checked in with the guard after she’d left. But if she didn’t, the boy would be subject to whatever punishment Iago saw fit. Even worse, he’d ask about the dragonstone, and ultimately tie things to Azura anyway, acting on his suspicions. He would probably just torture Niles until he pleaded guilty for conspiring with the princess – something he had no part in. That would fall on Azura’s shoulders. And when Leo inevitably returned and had Niles freed, he would blame her for what happened to his retainer…

Why did she care? It was only ever about helping Corrin. She’d convinced herself the rest of the Nohrians were scum, beyond saving, and yet here she was, biting her tongue so as not to defend the honor of a known outlaw. But she owed a debt to Niles for assisting her the first time she’d been down in the treasury.

“…Perhaps it is not my place to speak my opinion on such matters…” She tested the waters.

“ _Please,_ go ahead,” urged the sorcerer.

“…To you, Sir…” Azura turned to the blonde man knelt beside her. “I fail to see the significance in a retainer of one of the King’s own sons being armed. _My_ _butler_ carries throwing knives on him at all times. Perhaps you haven’t been in the castle long enough to know of its dangers.” Her voice felt like frost as the words left her lips. And, Gods, it felt good. “I am a princess that has dwelled here since I was a child. I have been abused by nobles much like yourself, whether they’re the betrothed of soldiers or pampered little Chevois children born into privilege. In my many years in the castle, _those_ are the ones that stir up trouble and creative ways to put those below them in pain, or that orchestrate heists and manipulate outlaws to get what they want from the crown. So my question comes only out of hope…” His expression had turned from one of interest to disdain, at this point, like a plump, ripe fruit that’d suddenly gone rotten. Azura could care less what he thought of her. “…hope that you, too, are not one of these types, and that you’ve not turned my brother’s retainer in to the king’s _head general_ simply out of your disdain for the lowborn. If that is true, while all I have to offer is my words, I’m certain Prince Leo would be furious, as I’ve heard he’s highly protective of his retainer and particularly cruel when it comes to punishments for those that cross him and his allies.”

Anger contorted the man’s face, and his jaw clenched. “As has been made _clear_ , _Princess_ Azura, my claim is not baseless. I was _attacked_ by this man as he left the treasury with a full bag slung over his shoulders. Many others have told me they’ve seen him lurking in the area, as well.”

She held her chin high. “A full bag? Then have his quarters already been searched, and the stolen objects confiscated? Do you take him to be fool enough to steal from the castle he _lives_ in, then continue to skulk around like nothing has happened, days later? And for what purpose – money in his pocket, when he already has work serving the prince? Infamy and notoriety amongst the Windmire gangs, when he’s put such a life behind him?” The princess realized how much she’d run her mouth, even if she’d maintained a monotone, and paused before looking back up at Iago. “…What is it that Leo’s retainer stole? Unless it was gold, I cannot imagine-“

“ _Silence!”_

It was either Iago or Garon that spoke up, just before a crack to her cheek interrupted her, and in an instant Azura found herself on the carpet. Her bad arm lay the wrong way beneath her. She heard more chatter through the ringing in her ears.

“Pardon her rudeness, my lord. She’s never been as well-mannered as the others…”

Teeth gritted, Azura peeled open her eyes again, and the throne room was tilted at a strange angle. A monument built into the ceiling caught her attention… the rough granite it was chiseled from contrasted starkly with the dim hues of the rest of the chamber, but that wasn’t the only off-putting thing about it. It was almost _familiar_ to Azura… had she seen a similar piece in a book before, or perhaps in Cyrkensia? It certainly had never been in the throne room before. Her heart beat faster… but more voices broke her trance, and the moment ended.

She found Niles staring over at her, still kneeling with his head bowed, all humor drained from his features. Her cheek had gone numb, but a warm trickle on her chin told her the sorcerer’s strike had drawn blood. Struggling, the princess brought herself into a better position, locating Iago and the nobleman from behind her displaced curtain of hair. The latter was glaring daggers her way; the former still stood tall, arms now folded across his chest.

“I bore of this quarrel. All of you, leave me.” Garon was seething; the princess couldn’t even look in his direction.

The noble was the first to go, and as he rose he pressed the heel of his boot onto Azura’s crutch, which lay between them. The wood crunched as he applied his great weight. She took a heavy breath. After a brief bow to the king, he stalked away. Iago, meanwhile, turned around to snivel at Garon one more time.

The princess felt a tickle in her chest as she looked upon the splintered object, laughter wanting to escape her lips. Another dark shape entered her field of vision. Niles had crouched behind the sorcerer, and just studied the princess for a few seconds before he held out his arms, still bound together.

She figured she didn’t have a choice but to accept his help. With a grimace, the princess wobbled to her feet, her good arm using his as a support. Balancing on one foot was difficult enough for her, but the world was still spinning back and forth after the smack Iago had given her. She struggled not to fall onto him and send them both tumbling into the sorcerer’s cloak.

Perhaps that hadn’t been the best way to handle the situation, after all.

Regardless, Iago didn’t look pleased as he whirled around, his guards tugging the retainer back out of the throne room. As poor a job as Azura had done, she’d given him much less reason to believe she orchestrated the theft in order to obtain the dragonstone. It was more convincing than simply stuttering she didn’t know what he was talking about. But it still cost her, and it would still cost Niles.

With a sigh, she started for the door.

 

-*-

 

The sector surrounding the audience hall was teeming with inhabitants, now that the castle had woken up. Winter was on the horizon; the families and bachelors that did not own property in the south were holing up in the capital for the season, as the country always grew more dangerous when supplies were low. The castle would grow dense; men would fill it like insidious weeds in a garden. Azura dragged herself against the perimeter, clutching the wall, feeling like a mouse in the den of a lion.

 Each group she passed would collectively stare at her until she disappeared around another corner. None of them offered a hand, of course. Many would whisper once they thought she was out of earshot; ‘ _That’s Princess Azura, isn’t it?’ ‘The outcast.’ ‘What’s wrong with her, this time?’ ‘Ugh.’ ‘I don’t understand why the royals keep her around.’ ‘She’s a freeloader. She would be wise to make herself useful, and get married.’ ‘They should have gotten rid of her a long time ago._ ’ ‘ _She’s really grown up.’ ‘A little less to offer than Lady Camilla, though…’_ She began scanning the rooms for Jakob as she limped along, knowing he wouldn’t be up here, not at this hour. ‘ _Hmm, but she does have a certain charm about her…’ ‘How many do you think she’s seen?_ ’ Her pace quickened and she scoured her brain for the way to the infirmary. ‘ _The King doesn’t pay much attention to what happens to her, isn’t that right?’ ‘Certainly, but she’s General Iago’s, isn’t she?_ ’ She could feel the leers of the latest throng of noblemen on her back as she rounded another corner. Her bruised foot was a deadweight, dragging against the floor. A spiral stairwell sat at the end of this corridor, like the light at the end of a tunnel; she could cut through the royal quarters on the floor above, and make her way around the inner ring of Krakenburg to the war quarters, where the infirmary was _. ‘Do you think they would punish me if I hauled her off to my chambers and had her, right now?’ ‘You absolute dog, she’s crippled.’_ A few chuckles, then the pattering of footsteps. “Milady!”

The stairwell was still a distance away. Just three braziers burned between where she was and the end of the hall. _‘Azura,’_ Camilla’s voice was so gentle in her mind. _‘Remember to always carry a weapon on you. Even if that butler is constantly by your side – I don’t want to see something bad happen to you. Sure, I would slaughter anyone who lay a hand on you, but I don’t want to be too late.’_ More footsteps, and a more agitated “Milady!” It sounded more like a command. _‘Here.’_ Azura had been shocked to be handed the wicked dagger by her older sister, the blade as long as her forearm, serrated near the handle. _‘A letter opener,’_ she’d chirped with a bright smile. _‘You can strap it beneath your skirts, if you like.’_ It had been the first such gift of many, and right now rested in a drawer of the nightstand in her hospital room.

Only one brazier was left now. A hand grabbed her arm just beneath her shoulder. She couldn’t tug it away, not with the rest still wrapped up in a sling, but her eyes darted to the brazier. It was just low enough that she would be able to reach in and grab some of the embers, then toss them into the man’s eyes, she just needed to get a little closer…

“Milady…!”

He caught up with her, moving around her right, filling the space between her and the brazier… and Azura’s eyes widened. It was not one of the men from the group she’d passed. This one was built like a mountain, with a head of smooth hair and a broad smile always plastered onto his face – _Arthur!?_

“Goodness! Are you alright, milady?” He ducked down to get a better look at her injuries. Shyly, Azura pulled away.

“Pardon me,” he spoke. “I noticed you were injured as I was making my way through the keep, but before I could catch up with you I accidentally bumped into one of the court ladies, whose betrothed then accused me of groping, and when I finally explained myself and hurried off after you, what do you know – a butler pushing a cart full of cakes and tea was right around the next corner! And wait until you hear who the man that’d ordered them was…” The man continued his story, ending every other sentence with an apology. Azura’s racing heart finally calmed down in the midst of this. What a stroke of luck, on her end.

Arthur was always nice to talk to – mostly because he treated her as well as any other, but he’d always had some wild tale to tell that’d brighten her up when she was a child. But much like it was with her siblings, it was rare she actually crossed paths with him. Still, he would show up at inopportune times and she appreciated wholeheartedly his attempts at heroism.

“It’s a rare stroke of luck for both of us, then,” she managed when he’d finally finished, feeling her lips rise into a smile, “that you showed up.”

Her humor didn’t reach him, though, and his hands rested on his hips. “It’s a damn shame that you’re still being treated this way, Lady Azura. Were I not pledged to Lady Elise, you know I would be there to help whenever possible.”

“I understand, Arthur. …Is Elise home? Is that why you’re here?”

He nodded, keeping his distance as Azura leaned against a wall. “Indeed. We’ve just returned from a trip to Cheve. Relations with the crown are struggling there, so his majesty saw it fit to send the princess to their court in an attempt to smooth things out…”

Azura frowned. “Already…? Elise is… what, now, _thirteen_?”

“Hardly,” replied Arthur, rubbing his chin. “I suppose the king knows best, but she’s still young and innocent. Truthfully, I hate to see her get involved with that sort of thing so soon, but she seemed eager enough, if only because she loves meeting new people.”

The princess sighed. “I see…”

“In any case,” he turned on her again, getting all worked up. “Your _injuries_ , milady! You _must_ go to the infirmary!”

“I was just headed there,” was all she said, dodging the subject of her meeting with the king. “Unfortunately I lost my crutch along the way. If you aren’t in a rush, I would be grateful if you could get someone to call Jakob to me…”

Arthur held his great chin high. “Nonsense! We’ll head there immediately, Lady Azura. I shan’t leave you alone, not when there are so many crude crooks about.” Then all at once he lifted her as if she were a doll, without irritating her damaged limbs. She supposed he was used to it, now that he worked for a princess who happened to be a healer.

“A-Arthur-“ He jogged them back out into the corridor, and she had to grip one of his shoulder plates to steady herself. “You don’t need to-“

“Say no more, Lady Azura, lest you bite your tongue! We’ll be there in a jiffy.”

She relented, knowing nothing would change his mind. “Goodness, Arthur. Should I include this in the song I’m to write of your heroism?”

He coughed. “Very funny, milady.”

 

-*-

 

On the other end of the day, the princess was tucked beneath the sheets in that stiff bed again. Cold rags sat on her head and readjusted arm. Or, they _had_ been cold when she’d first returned from the throne room, but not a single nurse had come back since then to check on her. The window was her subject of interest at the moment, and the familiar vista of the underground city that sat outside it. Azura thought herself one not to complain too much, but it _was_ getting chilly, and a simple sheet was not enough to warm her even with her lingering fever. A torch rested by the doorway, but its heat did not reach her. She sighed. _I wish I could dance, at least._ There was plenty of space, and the room was empty. Thank the gods – at least she had that. Some _quiet_.

“Oh, _please…_ A little rougher…”

She thought she was hallucinating when she heard the groan from the other side of the wall. But the clattering of footsteps grew closer, and Azura peeked out from beneath the rag on her forehead to find a group of healers making a commotion in the doorway. Two women parted; she noticed bloodstains all over their white tunics, and they seemed distraught. A troubadour, standing out with his more ornate outfit, tall hat and larger stature, dragged someone past them, holding them up by their arms while their legs dragged against the ground. They – he – clearly couldn’t stand, and wore naught but a pair of bloodied trousers. His chest was plastered with bandages, but visibly heaved beneath them as he gasped for breath.

The male healer heaved him into the bed beside Azura’s. Her eyes followed, little yellow slits cloaked by the shadow the rag on her head cast, unblinking. They fretted over the wounded man as he chuckled to himself, clearly out of it – whether that was from pain or medicine, she couldn’t tell. When all was said and done, the three healers turned and departed without batting an eye at the princess, leaving her alone with the foul-smelling newcomer.

Her gaze trailed away from the doorway, over to the guest. His breathing was still uneven, but he seemed sedated, now – maybe he was unconscious, she couldn’t tell. They’d pulled the sheets up to his collarbone. As bewildered as she was to see him here, it was definitely Niles.

He took a few hungry breaths before he broke the silence. “Hey.”

She tensed.

“Hey… Flip me over, will you…?” His tone was strained, like someone had a choke-hold on his lungs and was squeezing every time he tried to speak. “They laid me on my back. Dumb shits, everything they just _treated_ was on that side.”

After a moment, she understood what he was getting at. She turned her head on the pillow to get a better look at him, the washcloth slipping off with the movement. A set of three candles sat between them, fat globs of wax running down the brass holders. If they ran out, Azura doubted the staff would even have the decency to fetch new ones. But they provided enough light for her to make out the left half of Niles’s face; his skin was slick with sweat, wavy hair sticking to it. His eyepatch was missing, too. The sight wasn’t as gruesome as she’d imagined it being; the lid was merely closed, there was no scar or gaping hole. The candles flickered. She could see dried blood beneath his bangs, running off his scalp.

“C’mon,” he gasped, writhing a bit beneath the sheet. “Have some mercy on little old me. I can pay you back tenfold once I’m on my feet again. I’m the prince’s retainer, you know.”

Moving caused the numbness in her body to wear off, and pain was glad to fill its place. She’d gotten somewhat accustomed to her bad arm and ankle, so now it was the split cheek that was bothering her. The princess hadn’t seen a mirror all day, but she was sure it was swelling. Who’d have guessed Iago of all people could deliver such a blow…

The wood frame of the bed, no doubt cheaply made, screeched as she shifted her weight from it. If Niles had wanted to glance over at her, he likely couldn’t – whatever injuries he’d sustained had immobilized him completely. She slid her legs off the edge of the bed, paying no attention to the damp washrags that slumped onto the covers. Wincing, Azura stood, balancing all her weight on her left foot.

Clutching the table between their beds, she inched over to Niles and stared down at him. He was a feverish mess. His good eye looked her way, but she stood in front of the candles, so she wasn’t sure whether he recognized her immediately or not. His face twitched; after a few tries he managed to crack a grin. “Thanks.”

Azura couldn’t do much with one arm, and she was scared to apply any pressure to his bandaged areas. She helped lift his shoulders a bit, giving him enough support to lean forwards. His legs bended, pushing himself up off the mattress, and his right arm rose to clutch Azura’s shoulder while his left supported his other side. The retainer’s body temperature was absurdly high, and she could feel his pulse racing out of control. He couldn’t have been well enough to leave the immediate care center.

“Ugh… Give me a push,” he grumbled, and Azura hesitantly obliged. She tilted him to his left, and at the same time he brought his arm underneath him, pivoting… and then he flipped, falling face-first onto the bed. The princess stood there, arm still hanging out, as he breathed a long sigh into the pillow. Layers upon layers of bandages wrapped along his back and upper arms, but she could guess what kind of injuries lay beneath.

Azura maneuvered her way back into her own bed, again laying face-up so her eyes were on the ceiling. Part of her wanted to say something, but it was too late for that. Rest would be good for her, and Niles would still be here in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took longer to get out, party b/c I had to write & plan ahead on what'll happen and when now that Corrin's a player in this again, partly b/c of moving. sorry to leave you all on a cliffhanger, lmao
> 
> And I know folks are probably anxiously awaiting the next Corrin chapter. this *was* going to be another double update if I didn't have a ton of homework to finish tonight, so I'll post that one sometime tomorrow.
> 
> Oh yeah, and uh, whoops, the Niles thing just sort of... happened. I had not been anticipating it *at all*, at least not until recently. He wasn't really going to show up again after his first cameo, but he just kind of walked back into the story on his own, so just bear with him for the next couple of chapters lol


	21. Cut Your Heart in Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corrin is slow to adjust to having her humanity again; Xander is slow to comprehend all that has unfolded. Both are effectively broken into two by the actions of Azura, left to fit the halves together on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alt: "brooding over tea"; "everyone is just really confused, please help them"

Prince Xander had not been surprised to find the dragon’s cell empty the following morning. He should have been more worried about this, because it would have been a disaster if it had escaped, but he knew the real answer lied with the girl currently locked in his room. He’d discreetly slid the chains back into the cell, locked up the door, and said nothing to the guardsmen of what had happened.

On the first day, he’d written letters. Dozens upon dozens of drafts scattered themselves across the papers blanketing his desk-top, moved down now to the guest chambers he was occupying. His neat handwriting would fill two lines on some sheets and six lines on others. A few even had a full page written, but none were good enough, nor did they contain what he thought he truly wanted to say to his father, and each one he began would eventually find its way into the overgrown pile with the rest.

The second day made a hasty arrival, and with it a fresh layer of anxiety to cripple Xander’s resolve. He’d been relieved to find that the girl was somehow _still_ fast asleep, but each minute he spent wallowing in his own indecisiveness put him more and more on edge. He _knew_ what he had to do – write his father explaining the situation in full… but her words returned to him again and again, the looming threat that such an action may bring Azura harm because it was _her_ that was responsible for this girl’s appearance. He labored over the decision, sorted through the drafts on his desk, dug up as many books on hybrids and the dragon bloodlines as he could find, and threw hours into examining and repairing the girl’s armor (he’d had the maids confiscate it after she’d fallen asleep).

The third day came, and Xander remained locked away. He paced from the window to the bookshelf to his desk. Forty-eight hours had given his mind, once so steadfast, time to unravel. Self-doubt gripped him like a persistent plague, paralyzing his hand before it could even write a few characters on a piece of parchment because _Father wouldn’t hesitate to kill Azura if she was involved in this, if this girl is truly the same being as the dragon then she would have been directly responsible for interfering in Nohr’s most important plan for the war, why did she_ do _this…_ and he _should_ be angry with her, he should order her punishment himself because a king should not forgive treasonous actions no matter what the relation they had with the accused was, but he did not have it in him. She was his _sister._ Just as much as Camilla and Elise, even if Father had isolated her from the rest of them. He remembered his other siblings, the ones that _hadn’t_ made it, and thinking about the mere _possibility_ that he could indirectly be sentencing Azura to death brought the guilt from the loss of each of them back in full, even after years of repression.

 _Coward,_ he told himself at one point, glaring down his disheveled person in the mirror. _If you were the prince you were supposed to be you’d have written Father the day that the girl showed up. Even_ that’s _being lenient – you should have killed her on the spot and been done with it, that’s what_ he _would have done._ His brow lowered. _…But if I had killed her, then the dragon would have been gone completely. Such an action would have been rash - I would have realized too late. At least, in this state, I’m able to return her to Father and he can hopefully…_

There was a sharp twist in his gut. _Hopefully… what? Force her back into a beast, so she can be sent against her own family?_

Xander knew he shouldn’t be shaken by the thought, but was nonetheless. Through gritted teeth, he sighed and decided to find one of maids.

 

-*-

 

An hour later the prince, having regained some level of composure, sat by the window, tea in one hand, chin in his other. A bowl of stew sat on the table, only half-eaten; some part of him knew someone of his size should be eating more, but then again his diet hadn’t exactly been consistent for the past few months, had it? His fingers weaved lazily into his curls, now unkempt from a combination of stress and lack of care. It had started raining again; the sky was aglow a bright gray, and he squinted up at it as if the clouds had done him some wrong.

The drink was still hot as it touched his lips, but felt pleasant given the chill that seeped through the weathered fortress walls and hung in the air. He couldn’t believe himself; three days of inaction on his part as he groped in the darkness in search of the right decision.

_‘What did they tell you about the dragon after it nearly tore you to pieces years ago…?’_

 With his thoughts momentarily clear, Xander sighed and again tried to consider the whole situation rationally.

What if the girl was telling the _full truth_? As much as the implications made his stomach turn, he knew he would have to confront them at some point.

In that case, if she _was_ Princess Corrin, kidnapped after King Sumeragi was killed in Cheve, she’d likely been stuck in that awful spire he’d once stumbled upon, where Azura would have sometimes tended to her. Iago would be in charge of overlooking that, and if it was confidential enough that his father had never even told _Xander_ of it, then no doubt his sister would have been under intense pressure to stay silent. By that logic, the time Azura had sent him to the dungeon must’ve been a cry for help. His features contorted at the memory – what had she been thinking? _Him_ , of all people? Even if he’d discovered the truth back _then_ , his father would have been the first person he’d go to for an explanation.

…So what was stopping him now?

Xander shook his head and forced down another gulp of the tea. He flinched as it scorched the back of his throat.

 _More importantly, what was Azura_ thinking, _entrusting this girl’s fate to me again?_

All it would take is one word from the prince for Bölverk to be at her neck. She was a smart girl, knew the harsh Nohrian law and what the punishment was for conspiring against the country’s interests. It was a foolish choice that put all three of them in danger. He couldn’t figure out her thinking – as if he’d ever been able to, she had always been such a mystery. _Why?_ Did she _expect_ him to betray his _father_ and let his plans fall apart? That would get them both executed, and if she wanted to help this ‘Corrin’ she would have done so differently. Or was she putting herself at risk on purpose, hoping Xander would help the girl if only to ensure his _dear_ sister’s well-being? Camilla had once mentioned the girl was more manipulative than either of them may have thought.

Xander swirled the tea in his cup, noting the amber stains forming on the porcelain, steam rising into his face. Then there was, presumably, ‘Corrin.’ He’d been avoiding thinking about this, shrinking away from the implications every time they wormed their way into the front of his mind. If it was true, she’d lived in that prison for _years._ As a _child._ They’d said she was seven years old at the time of the Battle of Cheve. He sat back in his chair, the wood creaking, and closed his eyes, trying to recall the picture of the spire in which she’d been kept. Dank, stuffy, and devoid of light. Not even the cruelest man would raise an _animal_ in such an environment, but this was a _human_ , regardless of whether she was capable of transforming into something else, and not even some ordinary girl, but a _princess_. Dragon’s blood, as he was, albeit of a different deity. He pressed his fingertips harder into his scalp. Her caretaker? _Iago._ The proof for that claim sat at his desk, in the book the man had hand-written, then gutted before giving to the prince. His mind wandered. What had he done to her, all that time, besides observe? _Experiment_? Put this exciting new find of his to test? He’d had to have gotten all of that information from _somewhere_ , after all. _Research_ , like she was a rat. Nausea hit the prince all of the sudden, and he set the tea aside, the strong floral scent too much to bear. To be broken, and at Iago’s mercy for that many years... He was depraved enough that it wouldn’t be unlike him to do even sicker things.

The prince flew to his feet, a great wave of emotion hitting him. The fragile chair clattered against the floor behind him. His practice sword rested by the door; he grabbed it and stormed out, heading to his usual spot on the rooftop to blow off steam.

 

-*-

 

It was a pleasant smell that drew Corrin out from her slumber. She had no way of identifying what exactly it _was_ , only that it was making her mouth water.

The area looked different than they had when she’d fallen asleep. Brighter… She hadn’t made the observation the night before – she’d been much too preoccupied by everything else – but she thought now she might be in a bedroom. The furnishings were strange, but it was not unlike what she remembered staying in during her journey to Cheve with her father. Craning her neck, Corrin spied the familiar painting of an old map of Nohr on the ceiling.

She took in another breath, and with it came that distracting scent again. Her gaze meandered until it landed on a table; sitting atop the marble was a plate, with some colorful shapes atop it. A utensil skewered one of them, lifting a chunk of some off-yellow substance into a mouth. Corrin blinked – it was one of the maids.

Mid-chew, the girl noticed Corrin’s stare. Her eyes pinched shut as she began choking and coughing on the food.

Corrin watched, face blank. When at last the maid had recovered, she took two steps towards the door, then looked back to the girl in the bed and stepped towards her, then towards the door again… then finally settled on addressing the girl first. “Lady… Corrin…?”

She grunted, beginning to lift herself but finding that a mess of sheets and blankets were confining her. After a few seconds, she was able to wriggle free of them and sit up.

“You’re really awake…! I-I have to tell the others!” The maid flew out the door, leaving Corrin alone and confused.

-

A trip to the washroom later, Corrin found two maids now standing at the same little table. The second – bright blue hair, much like Azura’s – was holding another plate, and the girl took note of the steam rising gently off of it. Her stomach rumbled again.

“Lady Corrin,” began blue-hair, approaching her carefully. “Thank goodness you’re awake. Are you feeling well?”

Ignoring her, the girl tugged the plate from her hands, plopped down on the rug, and began wolfing down all of the food.

The maids stood dumbfounded. They did not move from their spots, only watched as Corrin cleared the plate in less than a minute.

When all was gone – _all,_ the plate licked clean – she dropped it to the ground and let out a sigh of satisfaction. Her stomach still felt like an empty bag, but it was something. She glanced down to her hands, covered now in grease and perhaps some kind of syrup put on whatever she’d eaten. Then her lips pursed, curving into a frown. Why’d she gone and made such a mess? There was some nagging feeling telling her she shouldn’t have done that. Looking up, the two maids were still just frozen there, their oval-shaped faces devoid of expression. Her cheeks heated up. That wasn’t how you were supposed to dine when others were present, she knew that – her etiquette lessons from the past started coming back to her. Biting her lip, Corrin picked up the plate and stood, head bowed in shame.

“E-excuse me…” were her awkward first words. “…haven’t eaten… from one of these, in a while…” She held up the round object, feeling the weight lift as blue-hair took it from her.

“…It’s alright, M-Miss Corrin,” replied the maid, a smile present in her tone, albeit forced. “You must be starving. You’ve been asleep for four nights.”

Something about that should have been shocking, Corrin knew, but given how meaningless time had become to her she couldn’t really understand the significance four days held. After all.. it was _nine years_ she’d been imprisoned, away from her home. _Nine._ The thought threatened to force all of her breakfast back up.

“Oh, but… as long as you’re feeling healthy, that’s good.” The other voice spoke up; the pitch was similar but this one was much more timid, and each word trembled. Corrin looked up at the pink-haired maid.

“Mm… Perhaps it was an aftereffect of whatever spell Azura cast on you,” pondered blue-hair.

Corrin’s heart skipped a beat, and both maid’s attention landed on her again. “Azura…” Yes – how could she forget? Azura had come here and then left without a trace. “Azura – is she okay? Where is she?” Her pleads sounded so weak. It still felt weird to talk – her _voice felt_ strange, sitting in her neck, like she’d swallowed a frog.

The maids exchanged a glance. “We’re… not certain. It’s around a four day’s trip from here to the castle, so perhaps she would be returning today…”

That wasn’t enough for Corrin. For all she knew, Azura could have been caught and flayed by Iago by now for what she did. She grabbed hold of Flora’s shoulders, speaking right into her face. “I-I need to know…! I need to know she’s okay…!”

The maid’s fingers carefully brushed Corrin’s own shoulder. It felt strange – the motion, as well as how _soft_ she was in this form, she’d forgotten about that. It drew her out of her daze. “Relax, Lady Corrin… We have a contact in the capital close with Lady Azura. I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon, and he’ll have word of her whereabouts then.”

“Are you sure…?”

“He cares about her very much,” Flora chimed with the tiniest smile. “He’s fretted for her perhaps even longer than you have. You shall know soon. Can you be patient for me, Lady Corrin? And for Azura?”

Hesitantly, Corrin nodded.

“Good. Now, we’re tasked with looking after you until…” her words trailed off, and again she exchanged one of those looks with pink-hair, like they were communicating between their minds. “Well, until anything comes up. Is there anything in particular you need?”

Corrin worried her lip. Looking after her? What did that entail? Keeping her locked up here? Running tests, perhaps? She found no trust for these maids in her heart. And so, she kept quiet, head ducked.

Another loud growl broke the silence. Embarrassed, the girl brought a hand up to where that damned noisy organ was in her torso.

“Right. I will fetch more food from the kitchen. Felicia?”

Pink-hair – ‘Felicia’? – nodded, and then blue-hair left the room again.

There was an uncomfortable pause. It occurred to Corrin that she didn’t even know what was beyond that door. She knew the arena and her old cell, but nothing else, nothing connecting these scenes together, and even as a dragon she’d never glimpsed beyond the towering stone walls of the fortress. Quietly, she stepped over to one of the windows and peered beyond the curtains.

 _Gods,_ they were up high. There was a roof of another building off to their left, but besides that the walls fell all the way to the ground, a distance that made Corrin’s breath hitch despite there being a thick layer of glass and metal bars separating her from the drop. She made out the shape of the arena all the way down there, and it felt surreal to look at from so far away. Walls curtained around the castle, and further out the land climbed up into ragged mountains not unlike those that rose around the Hoshido border. The peaks loomed over the fortress, their outlines a dark gray against the lighter hues of the midmorning sky. Strange shapes poked out of crevices here and there – trees, their branches empty and brittle.

Corrin’s breathing fell into a steady rhythm, and it was the smell of food that again drew her back into reality. She forced herself away from the window, instead facing the second maid and the massive platter of food she carried. They had that same _look_ etched into their pale faces, like they’d been observing a wild animal. Corrin found that this bothered her more than expected.

“We – don’t mean to interrupt you, Lady Corrin,” managed blue-hair. How long had they been standing there? Corrin shook her head.

This time, she sat down at the table and ate like people were supposed to, or at least tried – each time the fork slipped out of her grasp she felt a little more ridiculous, a little worse about herself, and it didn’t help that near the end of her meal she’d dropped a chunk of egg onto the hem of the too-long white shirt she wore, the yolk spilling across and dripping onto the ground.

The maids answered a few of her questions, and avoided others, again with those same pointed looks they gave each other. Corrin might’ve been out of the loop, but she wasn’t dumb, and knew that regardless of how they were treating her, they were subjects of the King of Nohr. There must have been plenty of things they couldn’t tell her... She got a vague description of the location out of them, as well as who they were and who they served, before they’d begun clearing the tableset and tidying things up.

She didn’t seem to be in any _imminent_ danger, and the maids certainly weren’t a threat, but it didn’t ease her growing worries in the slightest.

 _I’m myself again, but… for how long? Azura is gone, and I’m still here and the prince – he knows everything, he knows Azura did this… What’s going to happen to me now…?_ A shiver ran up her spine. She may have be in Nohr’s capital anymore, Iago may not have been present, but it was still Nohr. The country that’d slaughtered her father and kidnapped her and... That man, Prince Xander, was an enemy, too – an enemy _very_ important to Nohr. Just as much the king’s underling as Iago. Corrin could hardly understand why she hadn’t been thrown back in a cage already, and she wasn’t going to begin questioning why maids were doting on her. But there was absolutely no way to trust him, trust that he wouldn’t go straight to the king about her current predicament and put Azura in grave danger… or that he hadn’t _already_. Or perhaps, if he truly loved his family as the Nohrian princess had often said he did, he would stay silent solely to ensure his sister’s safety. But that seemed like wishful thinking.

Then there was her. A princess of Hoshido. She looked at her outstretched palm, near-translucent skin and the sinew beneath, the blue veins that meandered through it. To him – to everyone in this castle and beyond – _she_ was an enemy. Hoshidan, and on top of that a valuable asset to the Nohrians because of her ability. Her existence was evidence of a much more sinister truth – that Nohr had taken a child prisoner and raised it into…

The pointed edges of the dragonstone dug into her palm. Into a monster. There was no point in shying away from the term, thought the girl as her features twisted into a grimace. That’s what they’d done to her. Azura was the only saving grace.

But from all she knew about Nohr, they could’ve done the same to hundreds of other children over the years. That fact could have been public; King Garon likely would have just executed those who opposed him. It sickened her. She never would have imagined men like him existed, growing up in the warmth her mother and father radiated. And even moreso, she feared what kind of hell-spawn those raised under him personally were capable of becoming.

There were still things unclear to her – why she’d been moved out of the castle, why she’d been pitted against the crown prince in combat again and again and again… it was almost like he was trying to beat loyalty into her and force her to cooperate. And where was Iago? She couldn’t possibly be safe from him here. Why couldn’t Azura stay, and why had she decided _now_ of all times to come? Why hadn’t the prince believed her when she’d told him she was Princess Corrin?

She glanced over at the windows again, tresses tossing over her shoulder. Escape… she’d given up on that, back in the spire. It had been impossible. But now… Even though she was still a prisoner, being able to _see_ the world, the mountains and the sky and the horizon… It seemed _so easy._

Yet the more she explored the notion, the more absurd it became. Escape, to where? Apparently, they were deep in northern Nohr. The border itself would be hundreds of miles away. How far would she make it before she was either tracked down or killed? A town, perhaps, then become overwhelmed by everything and snatched up by the king’s men before she knew what was happening. Even if Iago no longer held her, it was like she could still feel his leer on her back.

She had nothing to her name, no wealth, and her one ally in this country was an estranged princess already held captive by the crown. She had nothing but her dragon’s blood, good only for causing damage and getting herself into trouble.

She could at least be certain of that fact - she never wanted to experience that level of hysteria again. The thought of killing someone set her off even more, even if in her mindless state she hadn’t even hesitated to nearly strangle Azura to death.

Corrin sighed. She was too cowardly to try and escape on her own, and it was like any wrong move might get them both killed.

“Lady Corrin…?”

Pink-hair’s delicate words drew her attention from the stone in her hands. She lingered by the door; all of the bed linens were piled on her arms.

“If you wouldn’t mind – your clothes? We’ll be doing the laundry, now. Flora has prepared a bath for you; we’ll find you more fitting attire afterwards, okay?”

“Yes,” obliged the girl.

 

-*-

 

The Hoshidan absently wondered, as she lowered herself into the water, whether these baths were purposefully set up to lower her guard. Make her warm up to the idea of being a prisoner to the Nohrians – to think things like, ‘at least it’s not that dismal spire anymore’. Azura and Lilith had always urged her against such thoughts. But the concern was quick to fade as she sunk in so that the surface touched the bottom of her chin, and a contented sigh escaped her.

Everything was back in its place. Her memories from the spire all sat within reach, clear and vivid, though not exactly in order. She never used to be able to recall what had transpired when she hadn’t been… _herself, those_ memories locked themselves away when she changed back, but in the hours following Azura’s enchantment every key had been turned and they’d all come pouring out. It was overwhelming… maybe that’s why she’d been asleep for so long, thought the princess. The feeling was not unlike having two different people’s thoughts crammed together in one’s head, being forced to mesh, and she had to refuse the urge to claw at her scalp when she recalled images from the ‘other side’.

As Corrin scrubbed some three day’s worth of sweat from her arms, she found she didn’t like her hair. It was so heavy and cumbersome, more so when it was wet. She gathered up a bunch of it, letting it run between her fingers. It was longer than it’d ever been, reaching down below her waist.

There were many styles in Hoshido, intricate ways to tie one's hair, ones Corrin had never paid any attention to as a child. She’d preferred it one way: short. Because of her sister. Hinoka… Remembering the girl, her apple-red hair and cheeks as big as peaches, made her feel winded all of a sudden. She sat up, running her fingers into her sweat-coated scalp. _Hinoka_. They’d been two peas in a pod, playing in the gardens from sunup to sundown, racing through dinner to see who could finish faster, and then they’d snuggle under their blankets at night and chatter until they both fell asleep. Inspired by their brother Ryoma, they’d play-fight and run through the barracks together, and the soldiers would all chuckle at them… then Mother and Father would grow frustrated with them for being so eager to go into combat, and scold them.

Despite how much of a crybaby she’d been, Hinoka was a tough child, and hard to teach manners to. Corrin, on the other hand, had known when to be the polite, meek lady and when she could romp around like a barbarian. Mother had insisted Hinoka wear the same even trim around her jawline, but one day she’d disappeared into her bedroom with a pair of scissors, locking the door, and reemerged with a messy head of red waves. The handmaids had been upset, but ultimately, when Hinoka had, sniffling, realized her sins and given a tearful apology to them, their parents had simply chuckled and forgiven her. Corrin had hers cut in a similar fashion soon after.

Having it this long felt wrong, and just added to the discomfort with her body she was already experiencing. Her eyes scanned the washroom, finding nothing remotely sharp. She looked down at the water again, and the pale tresses swirling around her. No, it needed to be cut. _Now._

Her dragonstone, lying at the bottom of the basin, began to glimmer. Corrin’s heart leapt into her throat, but still, she persisted. Holding her breath, she gathered her long tresses in her left hand, and held her right out before her. The limb shifted in the same fashion it had many times before until it was back in the claw-shape she was used to. It took willpower to keep the rest from changing – not as much as it had before she’d been given the stone, but it was the first time since then, it was hard to maintain – but she managed it. The black scales crawled up to her elbow, then stopped. Teeth gritted, she brought the misshapen limb around the back of her head, pulling the wad of hair taut, and ran the hooked claws through it. A section of locks came loose, but not enough; she cut at it again, then a third time, until finally the rest fell loose around her neck. Lips twisting in disgust, Corrin threw the bulky clump of what was left over the side of the basin.

Instantly, she felt lighter. The dull headache that’d been bothering her subsided. The claw, too, was beginning to retract, shrinking back into a normal hand. _That_ part certainly wasn’t as pleasant. Next time she’d have to find scissors.

Rinsing her hair out one more time, Corrin dried and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Without the mane of silver, she found she looked much more like she thought she should. A weight off her shoulders, however small.

 

-*-

 

Flora and Felicia spent day-in and day-out monitoring the girl after she woke, taking note of her behavior, making sure she was healthy, and trying to ease information out of her. In the evenings, once she’d fallen asleep, they would report to the prince with an update. Much to his surprise, she seemed normal – as normal as someone with her _apparent_ history would get. She was fit, they said; not the least bit ill or weak or malnourished. She wasn’t afraid of them, either, and cooperated when they asked her to move or bathe or eat. She could speak clearly, understood requests, had the awareness that someone of her age should, and didn’t experience any sort of breakdowns or episodes, to their knowledge. She was highly cautious, and made very little conversation, but mellow. The thing Xander cared about the most was that she showed no more signs of aggression, of changing back into a dragon, and they assured him they’d seen no such thing.

She was sleeping when he finally gathered up the willpower to face her again. Flora, standing by her door, hushed the prince before nodding and leading him inside.

Felicia glanced up when they entered – she sat at the bedside, filing her nails. With a bow, the maid scurried out along with Flora, and the door clicked shut behind him, leaving silence in its wake.

The girl was lying still in bed, covers up to her neck, one arm resting over them. The blanket was a deep black, and the pillowcase gray, making her porcelain skin glow against it. Each of his steps were light as he approached, and his breathing slowed, out of fear that even the most hushed breath might wake her.

Her hair had been chopped. Flora had mentioned that a few days ago. They’d been upset for a while because they didn’t know _how_ she had – all sharp objects had been taken from the premises on the prince’s command. It fell around her chin, now, curling out on the ends, short enough to be a boy’s. Her strange ears still poked out from beyond her bangs, a reminder of her volatile blood. His nose twitched at the scent rising from the bed… a mixture of at least a dozen different floral oils. The maids must have poured everything on the shelves into the last bath.

Off to the right, a number of of books lay scattered across the rug, many of which were half-open. Xander hadn’t bothered taking the second bookshelf down to his temporary room, but he hadn’t expected the girl to dive into it like this. He supposed it could be worse… better for her to read than to try and escape or tear the whole place down. Beyond the mess, the windows that ran around the bedchamber’s perimeter all had their curtains pushed back, providing a clear view of the surrounding land. Xander had always admired the sight, and it had put him at ease to know he’d be able to see enemies coming. Now, though, the windows were vulnerabilities; breaches through which prying eyes could peek, and learn of the wicked secret the Northern Fortress held. Flustered, the prince went around and closed each set, darkening the room in the process. At the last pair, the blankets began to rustle somewhere behind him. He turned.

Corrin had roused from her sleep, and was staring at him. The fire blazing in both the hearth and the chandelier blended into her locks, fading their hue to a creamy orange rather than the silver it had been the night she appeared. Yet her eyes were still the unnerving crimson he recalled them being. He fought back a shiver. She hadn’t been expecting him; hopefully she wouldn’t lash out.

Taking a deep breath – and ignoring how light his hip felt without Siegfried resting on it – Xander brought a chair from one of the tea tables and set it beside the bed, the side opposite where Corrin lay, to keep distance between them. She shifted, her back stiffening against the headboard, attention not moving from the prince.

He spoke in a measured tone: “I assume you are well?”

An array of emotions moved across her features. Twice, she glanced away. Xander could see what the maids had meant – it only made sense that she was lacking in social skills, if it what he suspected about her past was true. He was the crown prince, and that title demanded respect from everyone, but she likely had no idea how to address him given she’d been trying to murder him for some two years now, and… given he was the son of the man who’d potentially… murdered her father and locked her in a prison. He’d walked in here expecting fury and hostility for those reasons, but there was much less of it than he expected present in her behavior.

“Regardless of how it is you feel about me,” he pressed, voice even, “I need information out of you, and I’d like to retrieve it in a civil manner.”

“What do you plan on doing with me?” she asked, hands fidgeting in her lap, brow furrowed. “The maids… told me you haven’t sent any letters yet.”

_Letters?_

Xander caught sight of the blue stone between her fingers – it was _still_ in her grasp. She held it like a lifeline. It dawned on him, then, that the object must be a dragonstone. Those as potent as her had to carry such trinkets, lest they risk losing control and giving in to the same curse of insanity all dragons had. A new layer of understanding came over the prince… his father and Iago had clearly meant to exploit this, and her reverting to a human now was only due to the dragonstone. Now that he saw its blue sheen up close, the prince could’ve sworn Krakenburg’s treasury held something similar – and hadn’t he set aside some letter from the castle informing him of a robbery earlier…?

“Have you?” Corrin sputtered.

“…No. I haven’t sent any letters, yet,” he replied, and it was the truth.

Corrin let out a breath of relief, audible in the silence. The prince was about to speak up again when she rasped, “Why?”

 _Why._ He’d been grappling with that question himself. How could he have let his heart be swayed like this - given her a _bed_ and maids to care for her? And mercy had given his mind time to raise doubt, to piece together information that was never meant for him to understand. Father knew best, and Xander had always been content being his tool, suppressing his own voice and feelings when he had qualms with a decision. Living away from the capital for so long had corroded down the walls he used to contain _that_ side of him, the sentimental boy that lived in his shadow, and now those walls were outright breached, with little hope of repair.

“I spent time thinking over your words, and what I already know…” - _and don’t know -_ “and part of me,” - _a part that shouldn’t exist –_ “believes your tale. That is why I’m here,” continued the prince, leaning forward. “I have questions; it would do you well to answer them truthfully. While _I_ am unarmed, and while _you_ are still bundled up in a warm bed.”

She flinched. “…I understand…” Her gaze was unwavering. “…If what you wish to get out of me will bring Azura harm, you can kill me right here.”

“…I would not consciously choose to harm one of my own family,” he responded, and he knew it was a lie the moment the words left his mouth. The taste was familiar to him; he’d mastered falsities like these, loose promises that saved face and said what he may have _wanted_ to do but ultimately wouldn’t when it came down to it.

“Very well,” muttered Corrin. It was unlikely she’d seen through him, but if she had she didn’t show it. They began.

Xander did most of the talking, repeating what he believed her story was, based off what he knew and suspected. She would nod if his information was correct, shake her head and mumble a revision if he was wrong. But the bulk of it was as he’d predicted. Iago… _and_ his father had sought to strip Corrin of her identity and forge her into a weapon. The strong attachment to Azura came from both her history of returning the Hoshidan to her senses (he wasn’t aware his sister had possessed such an ability) and a friendship they shared in her earlier years. Corrin emphasized the control Iago had over the Nohrian princess, and the threat to her safety that likely still existed should the truth get out.

The prince could understand. Such a violation of human dignity could’ve swelled the spirit of rebellion that sat dormant in Nohr if word got out. It would destroy the advantage of surprise they hoped to have when it – she – would be deployed in the war, as well. Finding out what happened to one of their own royals might have shifted the Hoshidan’s view towards the war completely, and started a conflict prematurely. ‘ _Have everything under your tight control’,_ his father used to stress. _‘With control, victory is always promised.’_

Control was the last thing Xander felt he had right now.

They reached Azura’s secret visit to the fortress, and after that quiet sunk in once again. Regret pressed tightly around Xander’s chest. He’d dug his grave deeper by having this discussion, because he _believed_ it. However much he didn’t wish to, he could see truth in the story. No amount of backpedaling would reverse that. Three facts sat at the front of his mind; that this _was_ Princess Corrin seated before him, that his father had a hand in everything bad that’d happened to her, and that not only did the king’s choices not sit well with him, but he felt they were undeniably wrong. _Unjustifiable_.

But he _couldn’t_ deal with such thoughts.

He stood, making a beeline for the door.

“What – wait…!” Corrin’s yelp was distant. “Where are you…”

 

-*-

 

The princess sat at the window until the sun sank behind the mountains. Eventually, the maids went off to bed… or _said_ they did. Corrin knew one always stood guard at her door to make sure she didn’t try to escape. Her keen ears always picked up the tapping of their dress shoes against the stone, and she could tell if only one pair of heels had clicked down the stairwell. They didn’t trust her… and they had every reason not to, even with Azura’s word.

The night was clear, for once, the sky glittering. The princess leaned forward and rested her chin in her arms as she read the stars like a book. There were two or three constellations she could make out; the Dancer graced a valley between two peaks, far off to the right, her arm rising up over her head to toss _sakura_ petals into the wind. At least, that’s what they had been in Hoshido. Azura had told her that the Dancer in Nohr was seen as a symbol of Nestra, instead releasing rose petals out to her lovers. She found two others – the hooked wings of the Dusk Dragon reached out to the left, and Corrin traced the horns on its back until she identified the whole shape. The sight made her duck a bit further behind her sleeves. Then, close to the horizon, beneath the Dusk Dragon, was the Slain Knight, identifiable by the cluster of stars shaping his wicked helm and the straight string that ran right through the center of his torso. Nohrian constellations. The dancer was the only exception, able to be sighted in both country’s skies, but it still felt foreign to Corrin. She missed stargazing with her siblings, and the familiar beings that watched over them hailing from Hoshidan folklore. _I’m lucky I can even look upon the stars again at all._

Blinking the tears from her eyes, Corrin’s attention wandered to the fortress grounds. She longed to explore the rest of it, to feel the cold stone and dry grass beneath her feet and take in the world from another angle.

Movement caught her eye, then – from the rooftop that sat some distance below. The princess drifted over to a different window to get a better view. A figure was walking across the shingles. That blonde hair stood out in the starlight – the prince…? He was alone, and held something long in one of his hands. A blade. It was wide and flat, of bronze make. He dropped into a stance, knees bending slightly, back straight… then began a dance with an invisible partner. Lunge, parry, slash, stab, reposition... the pattern seemed to come easily to him. Each movement was smooth, yet Corrin could envision an opponent easily getting hacked to bits in a duel with him. She fell into a trance, and this close to the glass she could ear echoes of grunts and the whip of the blade as it lashed through empty air.

Then she began to notice a change in his swordplay. Measured strikes became powerful thrusts, had so much strength put into them that he had to stop and catch his breath before going into another fit. Lunge, slash, stab… fear grew in her chest as she watched all his grace deteriorate, yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Any composure she’d seen in him when they’d spoken earlier was gone. When they’d been pitted against each other in the past, he had certainly grown intense at times, too. They had fought like injured animals, each blow desperate. But she couldn’t _see_ then, she was still blinded by the madness that form brought on. _Now_ , the emotions his strikes conveyed were raw and clear to her. Frustration, intensifying the ferocity in his slashes. Anxiety, making his arms shake and his legs falter after each swing and betraying the confidence each motion had exuded before. And the fact that he was pushing himself despite the hour being late, waving around his sword, expending what little energy he had like this, perhaps that was a lack of care for himself.

With one last bellow, the crown prince – so esteemed, composed, and resolute – hurled the blade to the ground. It hit the roof with such force that it bounced, spinning in the air and knocking against the edge before plummeting down into the gardens far below.

Corrin trembled. _This_ was the son of the Nohrian king. He may not have been as outwardly cruel towards her – not yet, at least – but there was still not an ounce of warmth to be found in him.

Xander’s dark eyes then found the window she was peering out from. With a gasp, Corrin ducked beneath the sill. She took a few choppy breaths, counted to one-hundred in her head, then peered back up. He was nowhere to be found.

Heart racing, the girl pulled all the curtains shut again and clambered into her bed. Her attention stayed glued to the door; its outline was just barely visible in the single flame of the candle on the nightstand. She held her breath, and her palms grew sweaty, clutching the dragonstone tighter. But no one came; the stairwell outside was silent.

Corrin tried to think of the image of Azura's face, and searched for the comfort it used to bring her, but the thought that  _she can't save you here_ was more overwhelming now than it had ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope the time/skipping isn't confusing anyone; this chapter starts directly after ch19, corrin wakes some four days later (around the time azura returns to Krakenburg), it's another 4-5 before xander finally heads back upstairs to talk to her again (around the time garon is returning to the castle from mokushu).
> 
> Corrin's hair will grow back out with time. that's her iconic look after all.


	22. The Silent Maid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azura's actions affect everyone connected to Corrin, including the disguised maid Lilith, who is shaken to the core at seeing her sister well again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, this became a Lilith chapter. I hope y'all can bear with me here because she's definitely Untapped Potential: The Character.

Lilith tightened the kerchief around her head as she stepped into the warmth of the fortress keep. Winter had seized the northern mountains, and it was harder for her to stay isolated from the others in the stables as she was used to. She avoided the gazes of the guards as she made her way across the dining area, to the stairwell on the other end of the building. They hadn’t been busy, lately. It’d been the same way last winter. Brigands usually moved south in the colder months, so there were no incidents with them until spring. But the guards were being put to use even less often than that – they minded their own business, ran their patrols, cooked when the tribal maids were absent, sparred amongst themselves, drank late into the night… and did not speak of the prince. The prince that’d been sighted maybe _once_ in the past week.  He’d been in-and-out for a while now, not frequenting the arena as he used to, but this was something else entirely.

Lilith knew why, of course, though she didn’t speak of it. She’d seen the girl sneak into the fortress, into _Corrin’s_ cell, heard the _singing,_ then watched her flee as stealthily as she’d arrived. She’d spotted her sister from a distance, beside herself at the sudden reversion to her human form, but before she could reach the girl the crown prince had come rushing out of the keep and hauled her inside. It was then that she’d realized who the other cloaked figure had been, and Lilith had instead followed her out into the mountains, only to find her collapsed some distance ahead. A very familiar affliction had come over her body.

The songstress’s daughter. _Arete’s_ _child_. Perhaps there was some part of Lilith that wished to communicate with her about their homeland, Corrin, and Anankos, but she knew it was useless. If the girl even wished to reclaim her kingdom at all, such a fight would be in vain. There was no challenging _him_ ; all Lilith could do was protect Corrin from his reach for as long as possible, and she’d long since resigned to that.

Somehow, two weeks had slipped by since then, and Lilith was itching to find Corrin and check on her. She wouldn’t put it past the prince to simply kill her sister, but given Felicia and Flora’s odd behavior she had a feeling his captive was still alive.

But Lilith had needed an excuse; she couldn’t just come out and say she knew about Corrin’s identity, without risking suspicion or getting executed by the high-strung princeling for having such forbidden knowledge.

Lilith finally got her chance that evening, when she was doing chores in the maid’s quarters. They were at the top floor of the keep; at the far end of the room was a hallway that led across to the second, taller spire, in which Prince Xander made his residence. It an open room with a kitchen area on the far wall, and small windows running along either side. They were covered by pale blue and pink curtains she assumed the maids had created, judging by the snowflake patterns embroidered into them. Aside from that, was rather sparsely furnished, with three sets of tables and chairs set across the maroon tile floor, and an old leather couch beside the fireplace.

Felicia was washing dishes with her usual vigor. The prince was there, too, brooding at one of the tablesets. There was a plate with some crumbs left on it sitting before him, and a glass of wine. The smell of cooked beef and cabbage hung in the air. He seemed less attentive than usual, and didn’t turn in Lilith’s direction as she entered. His menacing stare was fixated on Felicia as she piled up dish after dish on the countertop.

Lilith wandered into the kitchenette, opening a few cabinets and pulling out trivial items. The maid beside her jumped when she noticed her presence.

“Lilith,” she peeped. “I-is something amiss?”

“No, I’m only taking a few ingredients down to the dining hall.” She smiled at the stovetop, where a kettle sat, steam seeping from the spout. Flames licked the bottom of the pot. “Tea?”

“Y-yes,” stuttered the girl, smiling back. “I’m sorry Flora and I haven’t been around lately… we’ve been, um… preoccupied. Are you handling things with the guards okay?”

Lilith shrugged. “Fortunately, they are an easy lot to please. Low-maintenance. Well, take it easy, Felicia.”

“You too, Lilith…!”

With that, she headed for the door and walked down ten, eleven, twelve steps before stopping and tip-toeing back up, ducking just behind the doorframe.

Then Lilith sat, and waited, and listened. A few more dishes clanked around as Felicia finished her work. Then:

“M-milord, if I may ask… Only because _she_ has been asking us… W-what do you plan on doing with Princess Corrin?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Thank the gods, she was still alive, and presumably had retained her human form. The songstress must’ve bound a dragonstone, then…

Stiff silence followed the remark.

“…I don’t yet know,” was the prince’s reply.

Lilith had a hard time believing he hadn’t come to a decision yet. The only option for him was to either inform his father, or to tear her dragonstone away from her and force her back into a dragon to avoid a confrontation with the king altogether. There was _no way_ learning the truth of her identity had swayed _him_ , of all people, right…? She wanted to damn the songstress for not thinking things through. If she’d wanted the best for Corrin, why in the world hadn’t she helped her escape the fortress, too?

Then again, considering the shape she’d been in when Lilith had found her hours after, that wasn’t a very sound plan, either. She might’ve died, herself, out there.

“Winter will soon arrive,” he spoke again, each word strained. “Traveling out of the mountains will become impossible in a few day’s time, I’m sure you realize.”

What was he getting at? Felicia seemed confused, too, because she didn’t reply.

“…Then,” the maid tried, “d-do you plan on… taking her to the castle before then?” She wasn’t very good at hiding the emotion in her voice.

Just like that, the prince clamped shut; any hint of uncertainty in his tone vanished. “That’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.” The frail legs of the chair he was in screeched on the tile as he stood up. “In any case, I’ve a number of letters to send out today. Come, we’ll fetch them.”

“Y-yes, Prince Xander.” Felicia’s pattering footsteps joined the prince’s heavy ones, and they faded as they moved up the stairs into the tower.

Lilith reentered the room and rushed to the stovetop. The kettle was still steaming. She pulled up a stool, unable to reach the cupboard she wanted given her short height, and pulled out a bottle of cooking oil. Then it was a matter of waiting. When she again heard the echoes of movement through the hallway leading to the second spire, Lilith popped open the cork, poured a generous amount of the substance over the burners, and tucked it away before ducking back out of the room.

“Wha- aaaaaaah!”

A small part of Lilith felt guilty. Sure, Felicia was used to dealing with kitchen fires, but each seemed to discourage her even more. Perhaps she’d used a bit too much oil, she thought, as she ran back into the room and saw the bright orange flames spewing from the stovetop around the kettle.

“F-Felicia! What happened?”

The maid turned her head, eyes two huge white circles. The envelopes she’d been carrying lay scattered at her feet. “Lilith!!! H-help! Actually – “she sized up the fire – “H-hurry and get Flora…! Oh, no oh no oh no…” She began waving a towel at it, then filled a pan with water and splashed it, which did _very_ little.

“Flora?” Lilith had a hard time feigning surprise. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you here-“

“Uwaaaah! N-no offense or anything, Lilith, but Flora is much better equipped to deal with this!” The fire blazed, nearly lighting the maid’s long hair up, too. She knew what she meant – they were both descendants from the Ice Dragon, so with their talents used together a simple kitchen fire would be easy to subdue.

“Very well,” Lilith replied, “where is she?”

“U-upstairs…! At Prince Xander’s old quarters…” Something passed over her face as her voice faltered. But Lilith bolted for the far hallway before the maid could change her mind. In the background she heard Felicia shout, “J-just don’t go into the room!” She’d have to pretend she didn’t hear that.

‘Old’ quarters, the maid had said – had he moved since the incident? If Flora was there, though, she could only assume that’s where Corrin was being held and kept under close watch. Lilith was a panting mess when she reached the top of the tower, and paused before the final doorway. Flora was nowhere to be seen, but light poured out from the gaps between the door and the walls, indicating she was likely inside. She could hear movement from behind the threshold, as well.

Messing her hair a bit, Lilith burst into the room. “Fire!”

Flora had been crouching, a pile of books in her hand. She was reaching out to pick up another off the floor when she looked up. It wasn’t the word _fire_ that caused her to jump and send the tomes flying, but rather Lilith’s tiny frame standing in the doorway.

“L-Lilith!?” She’d never seen the maid so flustered. “What are you doing here-?”

The girl shook her head. “There’s no time…! Felicia told me to retrieve you, there’s a blaze in the kitchen…” Her gaze traced along the perimeter of the room, past Flora, finding a head of silver hair just beyond the bed. “Who’s…”

Flora’s mouth hung open as she stood paralyzed for a few more seconds. Then she darted past Lilith, sputtering, “I-I’ll be back up in a minute…! D-don’t go anywhere!”

Just like that, Flora was gone. Lilith dropped her act, standing straight as she normally did, shoulder slacking. Gently, she shut the door behind her.

The girl seated on the floor turned around, and gasped.

“Corrin,” breathed Lilith, her vision blurring.

“L-Lilith!?” The girl stood. She was taller. Older. But she looked well, and unharmed. “Lilith… Y-you’re…”

“Thank goodness you’re okay, Corrin…” She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, if Corrin was alive. She had to stay strong. Her sister needed more smiles in her life than tears, she’d always told herself. “Thank goodness…”

They embraced, Corrin’s arms easily curling around Lilith’s doll-like person. She buried her face in the taller girl’s neck, feeling suddenly fragile. Perhaps she needed Corrin just as much as Corrin had needed her. Taking in a weak breath, amidst all the other scents that coated her sister she could still identify the same one of her and her father’s, the blood of the invisible dragon. Corrin was _alive_ and she was _herself_ again, she was still locked up but it at least wasn’t in some ugly hole in the ground…

Lilith forced herself to pull away, again sizing Corrin up – her hair was chopped short and she was wearing Nohrian clothes, but she was still the same as she’d been when Lilith used to coax her back into a human in the astral plane. They had little time before Flora returned, so she quickly explained the situation to Corrin, hoping despite whatever disorientation she might’ve been feeling, she would understand that when they were around others, Lilith needed to be just another maid. Corrin, in turn, explained the songstress’s return and her dragonstone. It didn’t take long for her to start crying, and Lilith was there in a heartbeat, cradling her head and running her fingers through Corrin’s unruly hair.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, Lilith,” she choked out between sobs. The girl could tell this was a long time coming. Despite their kindness, Corrin couldn’t trust the Ice Tribe maids, nevermind pour her heart out to them when they served the family that had done everything bad to her. “I’m _scared._ I’m happy and I’m grateful that Azura healed me, but I… I don’t know what’s going to happen, I feel so _powerless_ and – what if he takes my dragonstone, he makes me _go back_ and if Azura gets hurt because of what she did, or _killed_ …”

“Shh…” Lilith pressed her chin to Corrin’s head and held her closer. She didn’t have the words to comfort her. She wanted to say she would always protect her, but she couldn’t, they both knew that, she hadn’t before and she couldn’t now where her astral magic was powerless.

“I’m so scared. I just… I don’t want to be alone again.”

“I’ll never leave you alone,” Lilith urged. “That at least I can promise… even if I can’t save you, I’ll be with you every step of the way, Corrin.”

Her sister looked up, eyes puffy and red. “Lilith…”

The door burst open again, revealing Flora and a scorched Felicia.

“…Um.”

 

-*-

 

It was nothing sort of a miracle that the prince didn’t take Lilith’s life the moment he learned she knew Corrin’s secret, though from his point of view it was hardly _her_ fault. Perhaps he did have a few sympathetic bones in his body.

The maids, flustered, gave her a vague explanation of Corrin’s situation – during which the Vallite had to act as though she didn’t already know everything – and permitted Lilith to tend to the girl in her free time just as Felicia and Flora did because of how ‘well’ they’d apparently connected. She didn’t understand why they wanted to give Corrin a shoulder to weep on, why they _cared_ about such things, but she went along with it.

During their next meeting, they had more time. It was two days after the first, and Corrin had apparently been asking about Lilith nonstop. As much as she wanted to see her sister, it wasn’t like she could disclose their past to the tribal maids _,_ so it would be much too strange for her to outright request some time alone together.

Corrin had just finished bathing, Flora had said, and she wanted to go assist Felicia in preparing dinner for both the prince and the princess. “I’ll be back in an hour. If something happens, I’ll be downstairs.”

 

Lilith found her sister sitting on the rug, her legs crossed, eyes closed. She remembered Corrin doing this a number of times while in the astral plane – ‘meditating,’ was it?

“Corrin?”

The girl jolted. Then something wondrous happened – her lips rose into a bright smile, one Lilith had been certain she’d never see again.

“Lilith.”

They hugged once more, and this time neither broke into tears at the contact.

“I’m sorry our time was cut short the other day, and…”

Corrin watched her. There was no anger in her features; her lack of emotion was actually surprising, given everything that had transpired.

“And that I couldn’t help you before, Corrin. Like I said, my magic – it doesn’t work here, and everyone watches each other like hawks, the prince most of all. It was a horrible time – I knew I might lose my life in an attempt to get you out of here. What good would I be to you dead, I’d thought, but… what good am I alive if I can’t help you?” The words came tumbling out.

“Lilith…” There was only pity and sorrow in Corrin’s eyes. Nothing like her father. Not once had she grown frustrated with Lilith for her uselessness. “No… I-it’s not your fault. You’re right… you can’t just go up against all of Nohr on your own like that. I don’t blame you.” She sighed. Lilith couldn’t get over how much older she looked. “I’ve been thinking over and over about it, and… what matters now is that I’m here, I’m _me,_ even if…”

 _Even if I may not be for much longer._ The words hung unsaid in the chilled air. Lilith placed a hand on her shoulder, giving a soothing rub.

“Can you at least tell me more about… more about what’s going on? The others – the maids, Flora and Felicia – they won’t say _anything_. I think they’re afraid of the prince.” Her expression hardened as she uttered that word. The prince. Even in the top of the tower, it felt as though his shadow stretched over them.

Lilith sat down on the bed and Corrin followed. Then she spilled everything about their situation. How long it had been since they’d arrived at the fortress, the prince’s task, his subsequent failures, the many letters that came in from the capital questioning his progress and demanding a resolution, Nohr’s current standing with Hoshido, the plans the crown had to use Corrin in the war… she withheld nothing from her sister besides, of course, what she always had.

But Corrin didn’t react like she’d used to. Those days in the astral plane, when even among the orchids of _sakura_ hopelessness somehow seemed to seep in through the soil and sour their moods, she had been much worse off. She would cry or curl up or hug Lilith tighter when she was stressed. Occasionally, she would be so disturbed by her situation that she would shift again. But now Corrin was calmer, seemed level-headed, sedated almost. She took in what Lilith said and nodded along with the conversation.

“Listen to me, Corrin,” she said after all was let out, reaching to place her hand atop her sister’s larger one. “I’m not going to let them keep you here.”

She chewed at her lip. “But Lilith – you just said escaping was…”

Lilith squeezed her hand and leaned in closer. “That was before. You’re _you_ now, you have the dragonstone and your mind is back. I – we can find a way out together. If we can at least cross the border, we’ll be safe.” She knew as soon as the words left her mouth that they were lies. Neither were suited to traveling the wilds on their own, while also being relentlessly searched for by the King’s personal forces. But Lilith had her sister here with her, and she wasn’t going to lose her to madness again.

“But Lilith, the prince – he knows I’ll be looking to escape, that’s why he has me locked in this room.” She pulled her hand from beneath Lilith’s, and stared at it, flexing each finger. “It’s like you said… I’m too valuable to the Nohrians, now. They’ll never turn a blind eye long enough for me to get away.”

“We’ll kill the prince,” Lilith stated, voice as sturdy as a rock.

Corrin’s brow shot up. “What…?”

“If we kill him here, he won’t be able to speak to the king about _anything_. The guards may, but if they’re gone too, no one will be left to write or ride for the capital and warn them. That would buy us time – the prince sends monthly check-up letters to his father assuring that all is well here, but the king doesn’t actually have people come and report back to him, so until he noticed he never got such a letter from the prince, he wouldn’t realize anything had gone wrong.”

Corrin was dumbfounded. “That’s… you… you think so…?”

“I’ve thought about it more than you might think,” Lilith admitted, resting her hands in her lap. In the hundreds of hours she’d spent tending to the horses and cooking meals for the guardsmen, she’d pondered such scenarios endlessly. “And when the Nohrians _do_ finally march on Hoshido, they will be crippled without their prince. You may not realize it, but despite his youth he’s an extremely important piece in the war effort. That’s why he was assigned to you, over everyone else.”

“Someone like that…” The hesitation in Corrin’s tone made Lilith uneasy. What was there to think about? It was the only chance they had of escape. “H-how would we even… kill… him? I could barely best him when I was… when I _wasn’t_ myself.”

Lilith frowned. That was a good point. In the few times she’d actually watched the prince spar against Corrin in her full strength, his technique and reflexes had been stunning. That, combined with his position as crown prince and rumored skill in leadership made him a frighteningly potent vessel for Anankos, even moreso than his father… but the simple solution to that was burning the body after the deed was done.

 “We’d have to find a way, first. Wait for a vulnerability.” She reached over, picking up Corrin’s arm and cradling her wrist between her own two smaller hands. “But we can do it, I know. Corrin – you’re stronger than you think. If you catch him off-guard… you could easily take care of him. He may be less wary of you, now that you’re human.”

Her sister withdrew her hand, all of a sudden, and scooched a few inches back on the bed. “I’m… I’m not using that power to kill _anyone_ , Lilith,” she responded with a scowl.

“Corrin – “ she reached out again, her mouth dry – “I understand you’re scared of your power, but as long as you have the dragonstone, you don’t have to be.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” she repeated, voice low.

Lilith swallowed. “Corrin… Please, think about it. I don’t want to take a life unnecessarily either,” – that was hardly true – “but this is the crown prince of Nohr. If we have a chance to get rid of him, we _must_ take it if you’re going to return to Hoshido with your sanity.”

But the girl only withdrew further into herself, like a turtle retreating into its shell. She shook her head, strands of silver tossing around her jawline.

Lilith stood. “If we don’t, I can’t say what might happen to you. I don’t know why he’s waited this long to take action, but he will sooner or later, whether it’s killing you in your bed as the crown has with many others, or taking your dragonstone and locking you back up in that cell, or even dragging you back to King Garon. I’m sorry, Corrin, this is just something we have to do.” She grimaced. “But I understand why you’d hesitate… and if you won’t, then I’ll find a way to, myself.”

Corrin drew her knees up to her chest and ducked her head behind them. “Lilith… just… I-I can’t, not now…”

She knew her sister’s body language well enough, and did not pursue the subject any further, moving instead to pick up some of the items littered across the floor. There were old novels and ancient-looking tomes, on history and philosophy, war and swordplay, Nohr-Hoshido relations and lineages… they were heavy as bricks in Lilith’s arms, too, and all were partway open, making it clear how Corrin had been killing time. She wasn’t surprised; reading had been her hobby when she was in that other prison, as well, so it only made sense that the habit carried over (what else was there for her to do?) 

She paused, crouched over a certain novel; the taupe pages sprawled open included writings on traditional Nohrian noblewomen. Blurred ink pictures decorated the margins of ladies in huge dresses, and as Lilith flicked through a few pages she noticed at least a dozen topics touched on; anything from life in the court to stories of mothers and daughters to courtship and marriage to diaries taken from notable Norhian women in history, and so forth. She sighed. It was no wonder Corrin was beginning to feel like she’d missed out on something, and made sense that she’d try and use the books at her disposal to try and catch up… but her heart still sank at the thought. Corrin deserved a full life… once they were free of this place, Lilith would make sure she could live it out, and maybe then her sister could experience the things she was robbed of all these years.

A sniffle broke Lilith’s concentration. Corrin was glancing her way, looking exhausted all of the sudden. “Lilith… Er, I’m, um… sorry about the mess.”

“Corrin…” trying to simmer down her frustration, Lilith again approached her sister, keeping a few feet of space between them this time. _Take things slow, be patient with her,_ she told herself. “It’s alright. I’m happy to see you’ve been reading.”

Corrin strummed her fingers against the edge of the bed. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and bit her bottom lip before cautiously inquiring, “I… What about the astral dragons? Can’t they help us? I know you said they stayed out of human affairs, but, just maybe, since you’re in a tough position too, they could assist us somehow…”

Lilith’s heart dropped. _The… astral dragons?_

It was her turn to hesitate, and it was as though her voice-box had become a vacuum, snatching up any words that could’ve been said in response before they could reach her tongue. She grew short of breath, and her limbs stiffened as if the bones had all been glued into place.

“That’s… They… No.” _Please, Sister, don’t pursue it..._

The memory was still fresh in her mind, after all.

 

-

 

_At one time, the plains that the remaining astral dragons called home had been stunning to behold. Knee-length grass that constantly shifted in hue stretched out as far as the eye could see; at times it was a gentle green, then with the wind’s shifting splotches of lavender and baby-blue would fade in and out. Mountains wrinkled the horizon in the distance, just barely visible, and above them the sky was suspended in an eternal dusk, decorated with more stars than Lilith had seen even in the most remote regions of Valla. The full moon rested high above, never moving, never waning, lighting the path to the collections of temples that lay in the innermost regions of the plane and housed its only residents._

_She’d cried the first time she’d come here. She hadn’t realized, at first, not until warm tears began rolling down her cheeks and clouding her vision. Perhaps it had been the beauty, perhaps it had been a combination of what she had gone through leading up to her arrival at the plane, or even out of fear that the dragons would be disgusted with her for her heritage and her past sins and cast her out._

_This time, Lilith thought she should’ve been crying, but she was so accustomed to seeing the effects of massive destruction that it came as no shock to her. If she felt anything at the sight, it was acceptance._

_The grass was not just dead, but gone, replaced with smooth layers of ash; only a few charred twigs remained to signal that vegetation had been here in the first place. The earth was uprooted in some spots, trampled in others; the signs of a struggle were obvious._

_Lilith could barely see ten feet in front of her, because along with the ash, a thick cloud of smoke hung across the plains. There wasn’t even the slightest breath of wind to cast it off; in fact the stillness was so intense that the whole place might’ve been suspended in time. She hovered forward hesitantly at first, but before long was flying as fast as she could towards where she thought the temple was. All the while it felt as though her chest was aflame because she_ knew _what this was, who had done it, and why._

It’s my fault,  _Lilith thought._ I led him here. I led him here. I should have been here, I should have come sooner…

_But it’d been time-consuming, getting herself to where she was in the kingdom of Nohr, pulling all sorts of strings, all so she could be by Corrin’s side. After her sister had fully lost herself, Lilith hadn’t had time to return to check in with the Astral Dragons – not like they appreciated her presence much in the first place. When she’d discovered Corrin was being sent to a fortress, with a barrier likely to keep her from accessing the astral plane again, Lilith had managed to put aside some time to return herself._

_Only to arrive too late. Just barely, from the looks of it. It might not even be safe now, she told herself, but that didn’t matter, she_ had _to find the temple…_

_Lilith’s instincts pulled through, and soon she broke through the thick fog to the crest of a hill familiar to her. The land swooped downwards into a massive ravine with temples built into it. The smoke thinned enough to make out most of the citadel; the windows were all dark, rubble was scattered all over the place, towers were knocked over, waterfalls and pools had run dry, landslides from either side of the valley buried terraces Lilith had once frequented…_

_Her hands rose to either side of her head._ No…

 _Just as unsettling were the figures she could just barely make out atop some of the walkways, skulking, assessing damage, and poking their weapons at piles of rubble. She knew them well; the way their bodies shimmered, only half-visible, the magenta flames that licked the bottoms of their boots and the blades of their swords… She knew them because she’d_ led _them, she’d even created some back in Valla – mindless servants of Anankos, agents he sent into planes where his full power could not reach._

_Lilith wanted to scream. She wished she was surprised, but she had known something like this would happen eventually. Anankos didn’t have a one-track mind – he could operate on more than one front at once, and even if Lilith wasn’t that big a threat on her own, the dragon’s anger at betrayal was one of his main drives in the first place._

_She had to force herself to breathe properly, but even that didn’t aid her pounding headache. If he knew this much about her, what else did he know? Was this a punishment for her meddling with his affairs in Nohr? How much did he really know about Corrin? Had he been spying on them? For how long, and through whom?_

_She had to leave. If they spotted her, there was no way she could defend herself. But-_

_“ **You came, after all.** ”_

_Pain spiked in Lilith’s head as though her skull had been split open, and her vision immediately swirled into darkness. Her limbs went numb, and the stench of smoke in her nostrils dissipated._

_…_

_“ **Lilith.** ” The voice persisted, echoing around and around. “ **My child.** ”_

_For a brief moment Lilith’s breath caught because – it was_ him. _It was her Father, not the insane dragon but her real father, the one who she had vowed to save Corrin to. Was he alive? Or she, dead?_

_“ **Sweet Lilith. You should not have come.** ”_

_No. Something was wrong… Something was off about it. She was reminded too much of the_ other _Anankos. His words were soaked with that same apathy, and any trace of love was nowhere to be found, despite his vocabulary._

 _“ **You were always so good to me, Lilith. You were strong and unshakable. You carried out my orders flawlessly – the exception was only due to**_ **that _filth, not you, dear Lilith._** _”_

No, no, no, no, no, _she thought. It was all wrong. Anankos never spoke to her this way. How dare he use that same voice, that same tone -!?_

**_“He will pay for what he did to you, though.”_ **

_Pay for what, she wanted to scream. He already paid with his life, he already relinquished everything over to_ you.

_“ **Come back to me, Lilith. I need you. You are my only child and I your only father.** ” The voice was too similar… even the softness in it was like his, nothing like the monster she’d grown up obeying, who’d only treated her coldly…_

_No, she willed to shout._

_In the darkness, a slice of pale light manifested. It widened into a circle, and Lilith noticed a layer of fluid on top of it, with little cracks of red beneath the membrane. Then it twitched, and she found herself face-to-face with an eye as tall as she._

_“ **Lilith…** ” The voice was louder._

_Two, four,_ six _more opened up around it until a cluster of shiny pink sclera floated before her. Each pupil was fixated on her, a black slice in a circle of fiery red and orange._

_“ **Come home, Lilith.** ”_

_No, she repeated, feeling ill now._

_“ **You’re my daughter. I demand that you return to Gyges. You’ve had enough time to go off and act rebellious.** ”_

_No._

_The tenor grew in ferocity. “ **You were a fool to defy me and run off like that. You’re no offspring of mine. You are trash. You have always been trash. Your only purpose is to act under my command, and yet you’ve the gall to believe you have a will of your own? Your blood is mine. Your body is mine. It will**_ **always _be mine._** _”_

 _Lilith wanted to curl up, to run, to hide, be anywhere but_ here _with_ him.

“ ** _And now you’ve returned._** _” All at once his fury vanished, replace with a cool smugness. While nothing but the amalgamation of eyeballs hovered before her, she felt a tendril of shadow curl around her neck. “ **You disobeyed me and you will be punished for it.** ” The grip grew tighter. “ **I’m going to pluck your eyes out first. Then I’ll remove your beating heart, or snap that frail neck of yours, or perhaps just pierce you through with spears until the life is about to leave you; then I will inflict the Nosferatu curse upon you.”** The grip was overwhelming, and Lilith could only whimper as death seemed to approach. **“You were a good student; you know well what that does, don’t you? Your skin will fester and bloat and your brain will rot in your skull, and you’ll turn into another one of those mindless servants you used to command so well.”**_

_Lilith screamed, and there was such power behind it that she actually heard herself despite her incapacitation; then feeling just barely returned to her claws that were clamped tightly around the orb she carried, and she acted as fast as she could, breathing out an incantation and bringing the object to life._

_Light engulfed her, and the world began to shift; Anankos’s presence vanished, the air grew heavy with humidity, her surroundings darker, and the distant sound of wind sifting between leaves could be heard._

_Lilith forced herself to breathe as she shifted back into her human shape, still hugging the stone to her chest. Then, gradually, the blood roaring in her ears died down. She heard crickets chirping and the hoots of owls, felt damp soil beneath her cheeks and smelled the earthy scent of undergrowth. When she peeled her eyelids open, she was met not with that cluster of eyeballs staring back at her, but woodland lit by moonlight and fireflies; a few yards ahead of her was the stream she’d settled beside before transporting to the astral plane._

_Nohr._

_She crawled over to the riverbed and began splashing water onto her face again and again, disregarding how dirty she likely was getting. Even now her pulse thundered, and her neck burned as if he still had a claw clamped around it._ You’re safe, _she urged herself, planting either hand in the water and staring down at the mud as her fingers sunk into it._ You’re safe. You’re safe.

_The same could not be said for the rest of the astral dragons._

 

-

 

“Lilith? _Lilith_!?”

The maid’s blank stare finally broke, and she gasped. The princess breathed a sigh of relief – all of a sudden Lilith had spaced out and become unresponsive…

Corrin relaxed her grip on the girl’s shoulders, because now she looked _too_ frail, like she might break if her grip was too much.

“I… I’m sorry,” muttered Lilith, shrinking out of Corrin’s arms. “I’m alright, I just…”

The princess bit her lip again, then tried, “Did something… happen to them?”

Lilith went rigid. “…No.”

Corrin narrowed her eyes as she watched the girl grow more and more tense. Somehow, her reaction didn’t line up with her words… but Lilith wouldn’t _lie_ to her, would she? What reason did she have to do something like that?

“They’re fine, Corrin… A-as I’ve told you, they do not participate in human affairs, so I’m afraid I can’t ask them for assistance, even if my life were on the line… I…”

Her voice, always sounding to the Hoshidan like glass on the verge of shattering, then cracked. And then Lilith began to weep, shuddering as choked sobs escaped her. Corrin was shocked, for a moment, grasping for a reason for the sudden breakdown. Because they couldn’t help? That was a shame, but it was only an option she had suggested, it wasn’t like their lives depended on the assistance of the astral dragons…

Then Lilith’s shaking legs gave way beneath her and she dropped to the ground, her fingers covering her face as it grew soaked with tears. And Corrin’s body moved on its own, as she rushed to the girl’s side and pulled her into a hug.

The fire flickered lazily on in the hearth, sending blotches of saffron light across the two of them. She couldn’t pin down the feeling she had, holding the tiny mess of a girl in her arms.  When they’d been like this before, when Lilith had first shown up in the doorframe, she’d known what she felt. Joy, at seeing a familiar face again; gratitude, that of the few people she knew Lilith had not been taken from her in her time away from humanity; disbelief that the maid had followed her all the way here. It’d caused _her_ to cry and even if she had, it felt _good_ to because at least she was feeling _something_ again. The emotions had grounded her, served as a tether so she wouldn’t float back off into that empty limbo she’d been stuck in ever since she’d changed back.

Now, Corrin could feel the beginnings of tears surfacing, but had no idea why. She didn’t even know what _Lilith_ was crying about, yet she felt overwhelming sadness flood her chest at the sight. There were still feelings she couldn’t understand, it seemed.

“Corrin… I’m sorry, I…” choked Lilith, finally, trying to weakly push away from the princess but she had none of it, holding her tighter instead and resting her chin atop the maid’s head of blue hair. “They’re gone. All of them are gone.”

Her heart stopped. “The… the astral dragons?” Frozen in place, Lilith could finally squirm free of the princess’s grasp, and she sat on her knees, hands folded in her lap, gaze lowered.

“Yes. I visited there some time before I journeyed up here, knowing I may not be able to return for some time. They… were wiped out.”

 _Wiped out._ “The Nohrians-!?” cried Corrin, outrage flaring in her chest. “How could they…!”

“No…” The word rolled off Lilith’s tongue, and only fueled the princess’s growing disbelief at what she was hearing.

“It… It _wasn’t_? Then who else? Nohr is-“

_“It wasn’t.”_

Lilith sounded so certain of that fact, so Corrin didn’t question it. But who else had the force to wipe out the last surviving tribe of dragons? _Peaceful_ ones, at that? Who else had the malevolence but the kingdom of Nohr?

“And before you ask, I…” Again, the maid stumbled over words. “I-I… don’t know who it was. Only that it was not Nohr… Even if they somehow had the means to reach the astral planes, I know for certain it wasn’t them…”

Corrin sat back on her heels, deciding not to pursue the subject any more. Even if she did have the slightest chance of understanding the issue, what was more importance was Lilith’s well-being. “Are you okay? Do… do you want to talk?” She reached over, and, mimicking a motion, covered one of the maid’s trembling hands with her own. “I-I’m here for you, Lilith, if you need me…”

“No,” stated the maid, and there was a foreign coldness about her now, an air that’d suddenly come over her. Corrin gaped; the only traces left of the sorrow she’d just expressed were the wet lines on her cheeks, twinkling yellow in the light of the fire. “Lady Corrin, I’m sorry to burden you with such news at a time like this. I… I should go. The next opportunity I have, I’ll try to come visit you, again. You should rest.”

Without another word, Lilith was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> \- Yeah, the astral dragons thing is like never touched on in-game so some creative liberties were taken there. They're not really a major plot point in this or anything, but since Lilith is more of a major character in this I want to flesh out her character a little more since like, her background is essentially "child soldier/servant of an insane dragon hellbent on destroying everything". The DLC showed Anankos is perfectly capable of throwing his servants into other planes too, so I assumed he'd eventually find those pesky astral dragons.
> 
> \- I mean, tinfoil hats on, do we reeeaally know where the faceless came from? In-game implies Nohrian sorcery made em, but it also establishes they came about *specifically* because of Mikoto's barrier. Given how much Vallite stuff is present in Nohr and Hoshido (the throne, Ganglari (which, yes, will still be relevant in this ;) ), Azura's crystal ball, Anankos's statue, etc.) who's to say Anankos (who like, is fully capable of reanimating the dead) didn't just send Garon & Nohr the recipe for Faceless and let Iago do the rest. It's also pretty morbid how he went total Akira and had that Anthony kid in Revelation just like explode into a Faceless in that one chapter, yikes
> 
> This is getting long, so thanks for the patience. Xander's angst-fest is coming, I promise, and I'm just as sick of writing scenes in the fortress as all the characters probably are of being there, so we'll be done with that soon, too.


	23. Readjustment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azura leaves recovery; Prince Leo's retainer finds a new subject of interest; the Krakenburg training grounds are not the least bit welcoming to its newest patron.

A commotion woke Azura the following morning as healers swarmed around the bed beside hers. Niles’s bandages were being changed, made obvious by the accumulating pile of stained cotton strips lying on the floor. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she glimpsed between the bodies his beaten form, feeling her heart twist in her chest. _It’s your fault,_ she reminded herself.  _There's nothing worth grieving over._

Luckily for her, one of the nurses was kind enough to bring her a new, cold rag to keep on her forehead in the midst of all this. After the worst of the commotion had died down, she had the same girl help her over to the washroom down the hall; before leaving, Azura caught her own reflection in the mirror and cringed at the disgusting mark left on her face by Iago's knuckles.

She’d never exactly thought herself something particularly pleasing to look at, despite many of the crooning whispers of the nobles – she was a bit too scrawny, due to her life of neglect. Her skill at putting on a smile was below average and even then she’d always been told her smiles looked too insincere. (She could recall one occasion as a child of someone likening her grin to that of a hound about to retch.) Her childish face had never quite matured all the way, despite her quickly approaching seventeen, and she thought her neck was a bit too long, with her jaw too wide-set and cheeks still a bit too puffy. She had plenty of scars marring her skin from the past that she tried to cleverly cover with her attire, and now, it looked like there’d be another to add to her growing collection. Some women could wear scars with pride, even make them attractive, but certainly not her, she thought as she carefully brushed her fingertips over the swell of red skin.

She wobbled back to the room on the new crutch they’d brought her. Niles was all bundled up in clean bandages, his back propped against a pillow, eye following her as she entered like a cat’s. His usual smirk was back. Two trays of food sat on the bedside table, but Azura’s appetite had vanished as soon as she’d gotten a whiff of the stench that hung in the air - blood and antiseptic and all of that. Ignoring the archer’s presence, she limped over to the window and grabbed hold of the handle, but the lever wouldn’t budge even after she put all her strength into rattling it.

“Well, well, well. Look who my new roommate is.” His voice was hoarse, though not as strained as the night before. “I bet you’re surprised to see me here.”

She sighed, feeling the bags beneath her eyes grow heavier. She wasn’t ready for this, not yet. “I was expecting he’d take much longer with you.”

“You and me both. But no… Looks like he’s had his fill.” It made sense to the princess. Her acting had worked, to an extent; Iago must have chosen to forgo the ‘torturing Niles until he gave information on Azura’s plan’ aspect of the punishment, which was probably all he cared about in the first place. He’d never been one to pay any mind to the petty complaints of nobles.

Niles seemed to have figured this out, too: “Your little scene you made yesterday morning might’ve had something to do with that. I don’t think he took well to how much I enjoyed his punishment, either, though...” He chuckled again. Azura wanted to tell him he shouldn’t push himself to talk, in his condition, but held her tongue. “It’s bad, but I suppose I’m lucky. I’m well aware his subjects usually have a much longer stay.”

She didn’t reply. Just stop _talking_ , she wanted to say.

“So? I have to know – that _was_ you who broke into the vaults, right? It was clever to wait until all of the higher-ups were off on a mission abroad… In another lifetime, you’d make quite the thief.”

Azura jolted, spinning around to glare at him. “ _Quiet_!”

He feigned offense. “What? No one’s here but us, milady.”

An uncomfortable silence sunk in as Azura awaited another taunt from the boy, but he said nothing else. She stole a glance at his face, and found his one blue eye was still trained on her. Her stomach rumbled, and she reached for one of the biscuits lying on her tray.

“Don’t worry, I don’t _blame_ you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he continued after the pause. “Sure, you were plotting something I got caught up in – but it’s my fault for wandering those parts in the first place. Had a feeling you might be up to something, and part of me wanted to see it unfold for myself. Like I’ve said, you’re one of the most interesting characters in this castle.”

“…Why didn’t you speak up?” The question escaped her. “I came to you a while back asking about _exactly_ what Iago was looking for. He could have chosen to torture it out of you, if I hadn’t put on a convincing act.”

Another pause. Then, “Well, for one, I was gagged. But you’re right, I certainly could have. I’m not really one to seek conflict like that, though, and besides, you and I are two of a kind, here. I wouldn’t rat out one of my own.”

She swallowed another bite of the bread before side-eyeing him. “I’m afraid I fail to see how that is.”

Niles held up his hands as Azura continued to eat. “No need to get so offended! And here I was thinking you were open-minded, some exception to the rule that all ' _ladies of the court_ ' -" each word was clearly enunciated in contrast to the rest of his speech, topped with posh, with an exaggerated accented "-have to hate folks like me.”

She stopped chewing, and said through a mouthful of tasteless egg, “I’m not a noblewoman.”

He shrugged. “You grew up in a castle. That’s noble enough. You should be more aware of your privilege.”

Azura didn’t respond to this, and focused more on her food, feeling the retainer watching her even as he fumbled to get his own tray into his lap.

“That coldness – that’s what I’m talking about,” he continued, voice bouncing with excitement in contrast to his bedridden appearance, as he took a sip of his water. “You’re just like that butler of yours. You use it to keep distance, and push people away, am I right?”

Azura was beginning to grow irritated at his prodding. She’d heard Leo’s retainer was the type to overanalyze people and usually end up angering them, but his reputation for having a foul mouth in general overshadowed that. Which, strangely, she noticed hadn’t once come up in their conversation.

“I can only wonder _why_ that is, but it’s all the more intriguing now that I experience it in-person, I have to say,” continued his drawl. “I suppose a trait like that would come with a childhood like yours, when everyone around you is an enemy. So like I said – we can relate.” He chuckled – then his spoon slipped out of his grip and clattered to the ground. He cursed under his breath as he began shuffling his arms across the sheet without reopening his wounds.

Azura stared onto her tray, tracing a corner with her thumb. “You can relate to that. Dare I ask for you to elaborate?”

Niles grunted as he finally reached the utensil, and wiped it on the sheets before shoving it back in the bowl of oatmeal. “Are you _sure_ you want to open that can of worms? You seem awfully reluctant. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of a captive audience.”

The princess finally glanced back at him. His sneer had died down some, and he seemed genuinely ready to keep talking – like he desired to, even. The room was still empty; the distant chattering and clicking footsteps of healers in the hallway was but ambient noise. A few brave strands of sunlight sank through the window, running along her too-clean sheets and the freshly mopped stone floor. In the pause, Azura again became aware of aching in her limbs, even when numbed by mending spells and herbal teas. She certainly wasn't going anywhere like this, so it was either indulging Niles and his bizarre storytelling, or heavy silence. She sighed.

“Neither of us are going anywhere any time soon, so, yes, Niles. I’ll lend you an ear.”

 

-*-

 

“When is the last we heard from the Northern Fortress?” Garon’s head rested against his palm, propped up on the arm of the throne. His stared unblinking at the statue of Anankos high above, shrouded in thin wisps of smoke.

The sorcerer on his left shifted uneasily, eye flicking to the door to double-check that all of the previous party had left the audience hall. “…I haven’t received word from the prince in quite some time, and the weekly reports are overdue… As I’ve mentioned… it could be more than a coincidence that this coincides with the theft of the dragonstone…”

The plated tips of Garon’s right glove drummed against stone as he pondered Iago’s words. “Indeed. In any case, now that the alliance with Mokushu has been made, our invasion preparations can finally proceed. We’ve a foothold in Hoshido already, and between Cheve, Notre Sagesse, the islands, and Kotaro’s lands, we’ve enough supplies available to begin full mobilization.” The strumming grew louder as the king’s lip rose into a snarl. “He should be _done_ by now – what a disappointment that boy has been. In any case, I want someone sent up there to give me a full report and expedite things.”

“To the fortress?” Iago folded his arms. “I agree it would be wise, your majesty, but winter’s approach is swift. I believe the last caravan of supplies departed a week ago.”

“I don’t care. My son and the dragon must be prepared by the season’s end, and even if it takes five men to get that message through to him, so be it.  I need _progress_.” He rose, Bölverk in hand. Iago’s eyes caught on its wicked edge before meeting the king’s again.

“Send Gunter,” Garon ordered, practically spitting out the name. “I care not if he happens to perish in the wilds on the way up. And my son will surely understand the urgency of my command if a knight of his caliber delivers the order.”

“Of course, your majesty.” Iago bowed deeply, unable to shake his unease, and it bled into his voice. "Shall I send word to the fortress of his deployment? Or, perhaps... it would be better to give no warning at all..."

The king ran a hand through his scraggly beard, humming to himself as he pondered Iago's suggestion.

“Yes... you may be right, Iago. Do not write ahead." His head tilted back again, and again Garon slipped into a daze admiring the statue high above. "Go on. You’re dismissed.”

 

-*-

 

“Milady!” Jakob put on his best smile as he walked through the door, a genuine one only Azura was lucky enough to see regularly. It reached his eyes, to the point where they nearly pinched shut. “Thank the Gods you’re well. You have my deepest apologies I was not here to see you to and from the throne room – I was not informed of the summons in the slightest. How is your condition?” He blew past the first bed in the room, straight to Azura, where he began prodding at her limbs. “My! These washrags are positively _warm,_ milady. I don’t know what sort of craven hasn’t been changing these. Allow me…”

“…Jakob, it’s alright – my fever has gone down. I barely need them…”

“I _insist_ , milady,” said the butler as he piled all five in his arms. “Besides, none of the nurses are around right now to kick me out…”

Behind him, Niles had rolled over onto his side, head propped up on one hand. If the pose hurt him, his expression didn’t show it – he only grinned, his white curls covering his bad eye. “Well. I never thought I’d see such expressions from _you_.”

Azura was then able to witness the amazing motion Jakob’s face went through as it twisted from mundane, mother-like worry to absolute revilement. He turned halfway around, and did a double-take over his shoulder as though there were a ghost standing behind him. Then, all at once he dropped the pile of rags in his arms and loomed over Azura.

“Lady Azura! You can’t possibly – you’ve been – how _long_ has he been staying here!?” sputtered the butler. His neck reddened as his anger heightened – and Niles’s sneer grew. “Gods! You should have told me! Demanded the nurses have you moved! You’ve _seriously_ been stuck here with _him_!?”

The princess could only sigh as Jakob started to fret around – picking up the wash rags, setting them aside, avoiding Niles’s pointed gaze, removing Azura’s few belongings from the drawers of the cabinet… “Jakob, please, rest easy. It’s alright. He hasn’t…”

She spared a glance at Niles, who raised a brow. _Go on._

“He hasn’t wronged me, at least not yet. And I’m afraid I don’t have much of a say in things here, anyway, even if I wished to move.”

“Milady – “

“Don’t worry yourself, Jakob. I wouldn’t _dare_ make a move on a _princess._ You, on the other hand – if I could have you tend to my wounds with those fidgeting hands of yours, that’d just be stellar…”

“ _Ugh!!”_ Jakob stormed over to the opposite side of Azura’s bed, putting distance between himself and the immobilized archer, only to find that from this position if he were to face his liege while speaking he also had to deal with the sight of Niles and the rather lewd expression that was sinking into his features through his peripheral vision. All of this was written across the butler’s face, as it contorted as though someone were pulling it in three different directions. “Milady, _please._ You need to get the hell out of here. I’d rather you be roomed with a _horse_ than him. He will bring you nothing but offense.”

He leaned over the bed and started to help Azura to stand, but she was reluctant. “Jakob – I don’t know if relocating is a good idea, and after everything that happened the last thing I need to do is draw any more attention to myself than needed…”

She wasn’t the least bit frustrated with her butler, but it would be better for _him_ if he were to leave and take some time to cool off. Alas, his undying loyalty became stubbornness as he urged Azura to her feet. “Come now. Come on, then.”

“Jakob, I –“

Niles, damn him, just couldn't keep his mouth shut, however. “You know, I’m bed-bound, Jakob. I’m just so vulnerable and weak like this. My body is all clammy and slick with sweat. It would be a shame if you were to-“

“ _Enough!! You-!!"_

-*-

 

In the end, it was not Jakob’s repulsion that lead to his departure, but a nurse who noticed the commotion and promptly escorted him out – not before he yelled heroically over his shoulder that he vowed to have his liege relocated. Given the frustrated grimace on the nurse’s face, Azura knew such a favor was unlikely.

As the scuffling faded into the distance, the princess finally fixed a reprimanding glare on Niles. He didn't acknowledge it, either because he didn't care, was still relishing in the scene that had just unfolded, or she just wasn't in his limited field of vision. Feeling invigorated, she said, "Must you harass my butler like that?"

But there was very little malice in her tone, and when Niles finally rolled over onto his side it was clear he wasn't fazed in the least. "Well, what can I say? Without Lord Leo here to tug on my leash, I'm feeling a bit unhinged."

The comment only made the atmosphere weirder, and Azura prayed for another kind of interruption. For once, the Gods listened to her, because someone else then burst through the door.

“Lady Azura! Goodness, I’ve located you at last! Are you well? I came to check in – I even brought flowers, or I intended to, but a great gust of wind came zooming down the corridor on the way here and just _decimated_ them! I can hardly believe it, since, well… This is an underground castle, after all, and… _Gods! "_ Arthur stopped halfway across the room, mid-step with his left foot suspended in mid-air, growing pale when he identified the figure lying in the bed opposite hers. "What is – good _Gods,_ what is _he_ doing here!?” 

 

 -*-

 

The next three days might have been the slowest of Azura’s entire life. There was nothing to cure her boredom in the cramped room except for Niles’s valiant attempts at conversation and occasional exchanges with the nurses.

Healing sessions came once a day for Azura – two, for the archer, given priority since he was Leo's retainer – and the bulk of them were focused on mending her inflamed ankle. The sooner she could walk, the sooner they could be rid of her, she supposed. Her next challenge sat in wait at the end of this infirmary visit; _battle_ preparations. Every time she thought about it, Azura wanted to scoff. She could never _ever_ imagine herself becoming anything resembling a warrior. But alas, that was what she was being made to do; it was as though Garon had ordered her to scale the highest mountain in Nohr with nothing but the clothes on her body.

Yet somehow, Azura felt peaceful. After her fever had faded and the immediate threat posed by her plan had faded, so had her tensions, and the hours spent rotting away atop the stiff infirmary mattress were almost blissful to her, despite her inability to dance and her not-so-desirable roommate. She felt _satisfied –_ she’d done what she could for Corrin and passed the baton. Granted the person she’d passed it to was hardly trustworthy, but…

She’d at least done this much. Compared to that, learning to wave around an axe would be nothing.

 

-*-

 

Azura was released before long, with nothing but a dull ache remaining in her wrist.  Her room was nothing short of refreshing when she walked past the guard and through the doorway for the first time in what felt like ages. The air was crisp and cool and smelled faintly of flowers, and her surroundings, as sparsely decorated as her quarters were, brought relief to her chest. Jakob was equally relieved to be able to dote on her again, commenting nonstop about how wrong it was she’d been stuck with Niles for as long as she had been.

It wasn’t long before the princess ran into the retainer again, though. In fact, it was hardly over twenty-four hours – and _that_ was hardly Azura’s doing, either.

The second morning after she was finally sent back to her private chambers, the guard had rapped loudly at the door as she was enjoying her breakfast with Jakob, and promptly hauled her off into the palace, leaving her butler in the dust.

“The barracks. You’re to begin training immediately,” growled the man when she inquired on their whereabouts. "This will be routine every morning, from now on. You'd best wake earlier if you want to eat breakfast."

 _I could guess as much,_ thought the princess, mouth tightening into a line. Would Garon have the decency to at least provide her with a tutor? Or maybe she'd be given a special treat, and have Iago be her teacher…?

The scenery around them shifted as they ascended the castle, until finally she was led through a massive threshold into the glowing center of Krakenburg. The chilled air outside was like a slap in the face, and Azura’s hands soon found her arms, rubbing as if the motion would do anything against the approaching winter’s clutches. She continued across a long elevated pathway, gazing precariously off the side – it was a long ways down. Far below them sat the royal keep, and beneath _that_ , shimmering black waves of water. Azura bit her lip and shifted her gaze upwards to find the sky was much more expansive this close to the surface.

“Come on, I don’t have all day,” the guard yapped, poking her back with the end of his lance.

Their destination was a huge circular platform that jutted out into the open air. It was lined with all sorts of weapon racks, tents, and dummies. A massive statue of the Dusk Dragon rose out of the center, its obsidian claws and bared teeth glinting orange in the light. In addition to all this, there had to be at least two-hundred men scattered across the grounds, footsoldiers from the looks of it, along with a wyvern or two idling here and there. The men sparred and chatted, and despite the shadows their pointed helms cast over their eyes Azura could feel them following her as Iago’s guard led her through the crowd.

Of _course_. Why wouldn’t she look out of place? She was wearing a dress, for god’s sake. And she was thin as a twig. The military training grounds weren’t the place for her. At least _they_ could see that, if not the king.

In her daze she failed to notice the set of footsteps that’d been following her consistently until their owner was walking in step with her, casting a shadow. Brow furrowed, Azura turned her head.

“What’s this, now?”

Niles must’ve been released hours after she had, if he was well enough to be spending his time at the training grounds already. Either that, or Leo was tougher on his subjects than she thought.

The comment was apparently loud enough for the guard to hear, because he turned around and glared the archer down. “This is the king’s business. Begone.”

Crossing his arms, the bowman pouted. “The king’s business? But, I’m Prince Leo’s retainer. He wouldn’t be happy if some boot-licking dog of Iago’s got in his way.”

Azura almost scoffed. The guard, meanwhile, actually _hesitated_ , before sighing in defeat.

“Fine, take her; just be sure she makes her way to the weapon racks. She’s not allowed to leave until sundown, king’s orders.” He sneered up at Niles. “Mind them, or you could end up in my liege’s dungeon again.”

The man was more than eager to depart, and did so without another word. The princess frowned. That was some protection she’d been under all this time, if an empty threat was all it took to get rid of her guard.

“I don’t suppose you’re here because you want to see me?” Niles circled around so he was blocking her view again, and Azura was forced to look up at him. As per usual, there was nothing but light amusement in his features.

“I see you’ve recovered,” she responded, letting her shoulders slump. “…That’s not it. I’ve been under King Garon’s orders to pick up combat training for some time, now.” She hadn’t planned on telling Niles, and Azura wasn’t one to randomly spill tidbits about her life, but it seemed necessary now that her one escort was gone. “I don’t suppose you could show me to a weapons rack.” Defeat soaked her words.

Niles straightened, arms crossing across his chest. He sniffled as though he were considering her remark, then let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, alright then. Follow me. I’ll give you the grand tour, I will.”

 

-

 

Apparently, the royal retainers had their own little pocket of the military quarters picked out for training and loitering between missions, separate from the main armies. Built into the side of the palace walls, not too far from the main square that held the bulk of soldiers, was an alcove barred by tall stone pillars and webbed with all the supplies one could ever imagine would be needed for training. At the far end was a set of doors she assumed led to the royal’s quarters. It wasn’t exactly a private area, but was isolated enough from the bustle of military drills, squad training, and the general infantry that it suited their more singular needs.

As the two entered the alley, none of the others paid them much mind. Against a wall, a young, gray-haired fellow was sparring with a girl Azura could only describe as a life-size doll. The former wielded a sword, and though she wasn’t familiar with the art his technique seemed masterful; the latter jabbed nonstop at her partner with a spiked lance – seeming almost _too_ excessive for mere training – but the swordsman dodged each blow with ease.

Closer to the two newcomers, there was a woman holding two sacks of potatoes in either hand. She wore plate leggings and a tank top that hung loose around chiseled muscle. Some distance beyond her, a man with a head of spiked blonde hair sat with his legs crossed and his nose buried in an enormous tome.

Arthur wasn’t present, and Azura couldn’t find either of Camilla’s retainers hidden behind the training dummies or weapon racks, either, leading her to believe the princess had probably gone off on another vacation.

Niles let out a devilish chuckle as he spotted something of interest in the crowd, and started for the bookworm, jump in his step. It wasn’t until she felt stares on her back that Azura scurried after him, careful not to stub her toes.

“Odin,” called the archer as he cornered what looked to be a mage, “awfully quiet today, aren’t you?”

His head shot up from the pages so quick that the jewel hanging from his circlet bounced off his forehead. “Niles! Is there something amiss? Anything troubling Lord Leo is my responsibility to-“

“No,” was Niles's blank response, hands on his hips. Azura hung back, not wanting to interrupt them. “Lord Leo is resting. It was a long journey back from the Woods of the Forlorn, or so I’m told.”

“…Ah,” replied this Odin, closing the tome with one hand and setting it aside. Azura almost gaped when he stood up. The man was half a head taller than Niles with a build unlike any magic-user she’d seen. His outfit was anything but modest, as well, and she couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of wearing such a thing in the current temperature. “Well, I was merely consulting the inscribed whisperings of fel so as to construct my next spell. Though my mortal body may ache, my astral body constantly hungers for information; nay, it despises stagnation! My work is never done as a retainer of one such as Lord Leo, after all; there are always further steps that must be taken in order to bring the Second Prince glory...!”

 _Wh… what…?_ Azura felt beads of sweat forming on her neck. _I… I really can’t follow this man._

Niles didn’t appear to have a problem, however. “Yeah, yeah. I see. So, you’re pretty wiped out yourself then, huh? Big trip that was, all the way out into the western wildlands…”

Odin went rigid as though he’d been struck by lightning. “Yes! The oddities, the sights, the auras I felt traversing those lands… You are not prepared to hear such things, Niles. Lewd a man as you are, in the field of dark arts you are still pure.”

Niles didn’t reply. His lack of reaction to this strange Odin just raised _more_ questions.

“However!” shouted the mage, nearly jolting Azura out of her skin. He threw one arm up into the air and the other rose, his hand covering his face. “I will disclose those secrets to you! The plagues that crossed the far western reaches of Nohr… the mountain, upon its breast of sheer granite did I find that fateful flower Lord Leo sent me searching for… _All of it_!” His hand lowered, landing heavily on Niles’s shoulder. Then, in the most mundane tone she’d heard the man speak yet, he finished, “Later. I have work to do.”

Before Azura could even catch up with the conversation, Odin was peeking behind his comrade at the princess, one eyebrow raised. “My eyes deceive me! Is this perhaps… Krakenburg’s haunt, daughter of the sorceress queen, songstress not of this realm… Princess Azura?”

“Oh, it certainly is,” Niles continued, sliding over beside the girl and slinging an arm over her shoulders. “A new friend of mine. I won’t bore you with the details, but it looks like she'll be a new regular around these parts.”

Odin bowed deeply, and at this point Azura didn’t know what to expect from the man. Then he glanced back up at her with a giddy grin before stranding straight again. “Meeting you is the greatest honor, milady! I wish only to do well in representing and protecting Lord Leo. Odin Dark, all-knowing master of the arts, is at your service.”

Azura forced out a choked noise that could have been a chuckle. “I appreciate the efforts, Odin. Is… is my brother well? I fear I have not been able to speak with him in quite some time.”

The two retainers exchanged a glance, and whatever thought they shared in that moment was impossible for the princess to grasp. “He’s well indeed, milady,” Odin replied. “I’m... told his studies with Lord Iago are excelling splendidly. He, too, has taken up the legendary tome Brynhildr. A weapon of life and death, yin and yang, growth and decay… Fitting for one as deeply torn as our Lord Leo…”

Niles rolled his eye. “Well, before we do any more poetry lessons, I’m afraid I need to finish up this tour I’m giving our good Princess Azura here.”

Raising a brow, Odin asked, “Tour? Ah – I heard of this! The King has ordered you enlisted, has he not?”

Azura fought back a scowl. “That is indeed the case."  _Hold your tongue. Save your criticisms of the king for someone who cares._

The mage hummed to himself, arms crossing over his chest. “I see. Strange, indeed, then, that you’d only now be assigned to take up arms… _however_!” He stepped one foot up onto the bench beside him, and again curled his fingers in front of his face, each digit twitching. “Should you seek the path of magic, Odin Dark shall guide your way! Releasing yourself from the tethers of this plane… Expanding your mind into the arcane floes unseen to the untrained eye… Utilizing that energy and smiting your foes with a flick of your wrist! That, Princess Azura," the crumpled hand flew out into the princess's face, nearly flicking the tip of her nose, "is _magic_!!!”

“Wow,” Niles commented, clapping. “Everything’s so clear to me now.”

“Heh, Niles…” Odin again clasped his colleague's shoulder, grinning. “I’m afraid one as unaccomplished in the _arts_ such as you would never have the capacity to _truly_ understand. But…!” He turned on Azura, swiping his tome off the bench in a swift movement that sent his cloak flying out behind him. “The young princess – I can sense she has the potential! Her blood hums with energy not of this realm… Indeed, she is born of higher beings, and possesses…” His voice lowered into a whisper, bright blue eyes shifting from Azura to Niles and back to Azura again – “ _the sight._ ”

“My mother was indeed a sorceress,” murmured the princess, rubbing her chin in thought.

Niles gawked. “Wait… you seriously understood that? You’re just going to carry on like it was a normal conversation?”

“But I’m afraid I have not even the least bit of schooling in spellcasting. Just catching up to the level of a beginner would take years, would it not…?” lamented Azura, meeting Odin’s gaze in earnest. She'd witnessed Leo's own struggles as he'd delved into the field, after all. It took serious intellect, intense studying, and a clear conscience- none of which the princess possessed.

“Hmm… What you say is true,” the mage replied, brooding. “Each art takes time to learn, but magic in particular is difficult to grasp at first, unless you’re given – err, born – with the talent, yes.” He nodded vigorously. “What you say is true, milady.”

“Right,” Niles interrupted, pushing Odin aside with one hand and nudging Azura way with the other. “Well, that’s enough of that, then. Too bad. I’m _sure_ our Odin would have made an excellent teacher.”

“Huh? Wait-“

He quickened his pace, urging the princess along with him, and they scurried off to the next pocket of the training area.

 

-*-

 

“It’s just Effie. She’s not strange or anything, so you don’t need to be timid.”

Niles was leaning against a pillar, hand stuffed in his pockets, as he eyed Azura in scrutiny.

“She won’t bite,” he continued with a lazy smile. “Not like me.”

The princess wanted to scoff and walk off, but she was still a little uneasy. It wasn’t like she hadn’t met Effie before; the girl had accompanied Elise for their tea-parties and get-togethers ever since she'd first become a retainer, Azura knew she wasn’t hostile in the least, but…

Well, in their walk over she’d switched from lifting potato sacks to lifting _four_ full suits of thick plate armor. The kind meant for Nohrian great-knights; the kind that took months of physical exercises just to wear. They teetered atop each other with every rise and fall of her trunk-like arms. The girl lay on her back, her knees bent, and that petite face that Azura was so used to seeing either dazed or lit with a gentle smile was twisted in intense strain.

She’d certainly _heard tales_ of Effie’s feats of strength, but she’d never actually seen them in person. It was more than a little intimidating. The girl exuded an air of tension; if Azura stepped too close she was afraid her body might get crushed by the sheer force being put out by her.

That, and Elise had said many times before that Effie didn’t take kindly to being interrupted in the middle of training.

“I… shouldn’t disturb her,” Azura muttered as the girl let out a half-grunt, half-scream, of “ _Three-hundred and seventy TWO!”_

 _Gods, what am_ I _doing here…?_

Niles sighed. “It’s true that she’s a bit scary, but look.” He sauntered over to her, and pointed over her shoulder at something beyond the rustling stack of armor plates. On the far wall were rows and rows of weapon racks, holding all sorts of lances and spears. “C’mon, now, don’t you want to try one out? They say lances are best for the inexperienced.”

Azura wasn’t sure it was worth possibly aggravating the goddess of strength that barred the way. “Maybe we should return later.”

His hand pushed at her back, forcing a step or two out of her. “It’s fine, it’s fine.”

She peered over her shoulder, eyes narrowing up at the archer, and she noticed then that he seemed even more reluctant than _her_ to enter Effie’s territory. “...You don’t seem very eager to get close to her, either.”

He looked away, and his mouth twitched, holding back a smirk. “I’m afraid we don’t get along.”

“I don’t-“

“ _FOUR HUNDRED!”_ A storm of clattering metal interrupted their dawdling, and their attention snapped back to Effie as she hauled herself to her feet and wiped the sweat from her brow. Mid-swipe, her eyes found the two guests lingering some ten yards away and widened.

“Uh-oh. That’s my cue to get out of here,” said Niles, and when Azura turned again he was gone.

“ _Niles – YOU!!!_ ”

 

-*-

 

They were Xander’s retainers. Azura knew this only because she recognized the gray-haired one now that she was close enough – she’d run into him once or twice since his arrival in the palace, and vaguely remembered his heated duel with the prince on his coming-of-age celebration. The girl he was sparring with, however… how she came to be under her elder brother’s service was beyond Azura. Not even King Garon seemed insane enough to do such a thing. She nearly gutted her partner four times in the five minutes she’d been observing them from the sidelines, with Laslow avoiding each by a hair's width.

As intently as Azura observed, she really couldn’t follow their sparring; the patterns of lunges and parries, offensive stances and defensive stances all melded together and began to make her head spin. Her gaze meandered over to the tall rack that stood beside her; a dozen or so practice swords hung there, their wooden and bronze blades worse for wear, handles smoothed out from years of usage.

To her right a blade clattered to the ground, followed by a lance. The swordsman was shaking out his hands, the cavalier stretching her arms over her head and letting out a high-pitched squeak.

“As ferocious as always, Peri. But I believe that’s enough for now, don’t you agree?” spoke the man.

“Heehee, if you say so. I don’t feel tired at all,” replied the girl with a grin. “When do you think Lord Xander will put us in the next battle? This kind of thing is fun to blow off steam, but I kinda wanna get back to the stabby part, y'know? It's just not the same.”

Azura paled.

“Erm… Well, I’m sure it’ll be soon, Peri. Cheer up, now. And if you ever get any of those, erm… _stabby_ urges, remember to come see me first and we’ll spar again, okay?” the swordsman didn’t even try to hide how nervous he was.

Peri perked up immediately. “Yep! Thanks Laslow, you’re the best!”

Laslow made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, then turned on his heel and set his sights on the princess hidden among the weapon racks like a rabbit. She jolted. “Now, then, what’ve we got here? An observer? A fan, perhaps? I'm flattered, Princess Azura.”

Azura stepped out from the shadows, eyes following Peri as she skipped away, out towards the center platform, practice-lance in hand. Likely off to find her next victim.

“Greetings,” she started, formulating an explanation in her head. “I-“

“Hm, you didn’t mean to stare? I’m not going to scold you, milady. If my astute and manly form was that distracting to you, then mayhaps it is _I_ who is in the wrong…” He ran a hand through his hair.

“No, that’s not it.”

Laslow coughed. “That reply was a bit prompt…”

“Pardon my intrusion, though,” Azura went on, gesturing towards the rack of practice blades. “I’m just… not certain where to start, and your duel caught my attention. I haven’t seen much combat myself.”

“Ah! So you _were_ watching?” Laslow’s eyes twinkled beneath his frizzing bangs.

“I...”

The swordsman let out a long, dejected sigh, blowing a couple strands of hair from his face. “Aaah, I knew it… Well, that’s alright. I perform better when I’m not being observed, anyways…” His shoulders slumped as he seemed to go off somewhere else.

Biting her lip, the princess took another look at the collection of swords. Hesitantly, she pulled one from its slot and held it out before her.

Laslow watched from the corner of his eye as she lifted the object and gave it an experimental swing. His lips pursed – _oh, s_ _he’s definitely never held a sword in her life. Oh, dear..._

Her own disappointment was made obvious as her expression fell into one of despair. “Like I thought, it just doesn’t feel right..."

“M-milady, milady, your stance is all wrong,” chirped the retainer, trying to salvage some of his enthusiasm. Straightening his shoulders, he added, “For starters, your feet need to be spread apart. ...Come to think of it, you’ll likely have a hard time learning _any_ sort of combat, without shoes.”

Azura glanced downwards. Her toes poked out from the hem of the dark gown she wore. “No, it’s alright. I’m used to it. It’s not as much the movements I’m worried about – I’ve been dancing since I was young. But incorporating a weapon into that –“ she rested the sword’s blade in her other hand, holding it horizontally before her – “dancing with the intention to harm others. That is foreign to me.”

Laslow was staring now, and it was the princess’s turn to grow embarrassed.

“My apologies; I’ve overshared. It’s no business of yours,” she managed, quickly returning the sword to its rack.

But the retainer only beamed. “My! Well, I’d urge you to reconsider. I’m a dancer myself, you know.” Her brow raised. “Hard to believe, is it? But I’ve encorporated that into my swordplay quite well, I’ll have you know.”

“Sir Laslow!” a voice broke their conversation, coming from beyond the glade of dark pillars surrounding them. “Please, come quickly! Peri is…!”

Sighing, the man returned his own practice blade to the rack and gave Azura a wink. “If you ever reconsider taking up the sword, let me know! I’m _bound_ to be an _excellent_ teacher.” With that, he jogged off, waving over his shoulder.

“Swordplay, huh?” Niles had reappeared from wherever he’d run off too, looking a little more disheveled than before. He stared after Laslow as the man’s retreating figure blurred into the sea of orange lights and shadows. “Well, what are you thinking? Fallen in love with the concept? You’d even get a nice, spunky teacher.”

Azura scowled over at him. “I haven’t. Something about it just didn't feel right.”

The retainer raised an eyebrow. “Hoh? Well, you’re certainly narrowing the choices down. No magic, no swords…”

The idea wasn’t exactly unattractive to Azura, but she doubted her abilities too much to give it a try. She was a dancer; upper body strength had never really been her specialty. Swords felt awkward in her grip. All her knowledge and experience of dancing had never involved weapons or the intent to cause harm. Given how many years of concentrated practice and fitness training picking up swordplay required, it seemed far beyond her reach.

 “…In any case,” she said with a huff, turning on the archer, “is there a reason you are still here? I'd assume a royal retainer would be much busier.”

He shrugged. “For one, that shitty guy that had you on a leash passed the baton on to me, so you’re my responsibility at least for today, am I right? Can’t have you running off and shirking work, can I?” Then in a few quick strides he rounded her right side, standing, as he tended to, a bit too close for comfort. “Besides, with swords and magic crossed off the list, the next item to check out is right up my alley.” Then he pointed out to another corner of the alcove. Azura followed the gesture, squinting as she tried to peek between the layers of pillars blocking her vision…

“Come on, come on,” he said, urging her onwards even though there was not an ounce of enthusiasm to be found in his tone. “I’ll make you into a fine archer.”

 

-*-

 

“Gods, princess, you’re _really_ bad at this.”

The designated zone for bow-using infantry was tucked into the corner of the alcove, and was coincidentally the most poorly-lit area. Against the wall some thirty feet from Azura were four wooden targets, riddled with chips, dents and splinters. Niles had told her most of their wear-and-tear came not from him, but one of the crown prince's late retainers, who'd been a seasoned bow knight; with her gone, he had the whole spot to himself.

She sighed through her teeth before readying another arrow. Her arms, feeling more and more like twigs with each arrow she nocked, struggled to draw the bowstring back all the way. The tip of the arrow wobbled back and forth between her aching fingers, threatening to fly astray at any given moment.

_No, this doesn’t feel right, either._

Her knuckles just barely twitched out of strain, and suddenly the bowstring snapped and the arrow shot from her grasp. It went _maybe_ eight feet before dropping uselessly onto the cobblestone. The tension released from the bowstring shot through the rest of the bow, and her grip, not as steady as it should be, gave way, sending the weapon clattering to the ground along with its projectile.

“Whew... that's depressing."

Niles was sitting with his back to a pillar, his arms resting on his knees. It was definitely the most disinterested she’d ever seen him. But Azura didn’t disagree with his sentiments one bit. Her current situation was nothing short of depressing.

“…Thank you for your words of encouragement," she muttered coldly. "...But that’s why I’m as confused as I am about this whole thing." There was no use complaining, though, she supposed. There was no getting out of one of the king's orders.

Feeling sour, Azura paced over near the edge of the balcony to catch a glimpse of the sky. As usual, the sun was completely blotched out by clouds, so there was no telling what time of day it was, now. The guard had said sundown was when she could return… Perhaps the only upside to the situation was that the days were shortening rapidly.

She took in a deep breath, and caught a whiff of _something_ on the breeze. Bread? Pretzel? Cake? Whatever it was, it elicited a loud growl from her stomach.

Azura may not have been permitted to return to her quarters, but there was a dining hall nearby and she was _absolutely_ going to find it.

 

-*-

 

“Well, all that trouble aside, it’s gonna be nice having another girl around here,” rumbled Effie, before shoving another greasy chicken wing into her mouth. “Wiff Prncesh Chamlla anf her rtnnrf gone, ‘ts been mstly guyfs arund here, lately.”

Azura, with equal vigor, took another huge bite of bread roll, humming at the sweet taste of the wheat mixed with hot, melted butter. “I think I know wff you meanf,” she replied, reaching for her cup of water.

“Oh, and my bad for not noticing you earlier, milady. I was too set off when I saw Niles. He’s been purposely avoiding me lately,” continued the retainer, rubbing her stomach before taking a sip of her own drink. Some kind of protein shake. “He’s been getting too friendly with Lady Elise behind my back and teaching her all sorts of vile phrases.” Suddenly she looked Azura dead in the eye. “If he bothers you, just tell me. I’ll take care of it.”

Azura shivered, noticing how tight Effie’s grip on her mug had grown – the wood looked ready to splinter. She nodded, understanding why Niles had been so wary of the girl earlier. “O-of course.”

They ate and ate and ate, and dozens of soldiers came in and out of the cafeteria all the while, not even sparing a glance in Azura’s direction with Effie's immense presence so closeby. The dining hall was far from elegant, even for the royal palace, and most of its food was subpar, but Azura didn’t really expect the Nohrian army recruits would be treated like they were cream-of-the-crop. It was noisy, the air stuffed with almost-drunken chatter and the shouts of completed orders, and most of the tables remained packed full save for the one she and Effie occupied.

“So, about your problem – pardon my rudeness, but I think you’re probably approaching it the wrong way,” began Effie after she’d returned from dropping off her licked-clean tray. A bowl was in her large hands this time, full of salad, spinach, and tomato slices. “You said you were stumped on which weapon to take up.”

Folding her arms in her lap, Azura nodded.

“Well,” Effie continued, taking in a wad of lettuce – though she chewed and swallowed this time, before going on. “Given your experience, I’d say it’s better to train your body first before you jump right into things. That will help you figure out where your strengths and weaknesses lie. Or, if you’re like me –“ she inhaled more salad, and suddenly half the bowl was gone “- you get rid of those weaknesses and just excel across the board!”

Azura worried her lip. It didn’t sound like such a bad plan, coming from Effie, but at the same time, it was _Effie_. Training and maintaining her physical form came as easy to her as dancing and singing came to Azura.

“Tell you what, Lady Azura,” Effie said, holding up her fork. “I normally work out for two hours in the morning, then do some sparring with one of the fellows on the military block, or Arthur, if he’s around. But… If I rework my diet and calorie intake during breakfast, then maybe I could set aside some time early on to run through some rudimentary exercises with you. You’ve been kind to me ever since I got here even though I came from nothing, and I’m certain Lady Elise would want me to help you in any way I could.” Her green eyes shone bright and earnest.

“I… suppose that would be a start, Effie,” complied Azura, though she could only wonder what exactly she was getting herself into.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Azura-Niles supports in-game were really sorta ehh, though it was interesting to see both of them have a discussion like the one in their A-rank since that's not really present in their conversations w/ other units. That is, Niles using his lewdness to push people away from him and Azura developing a stoic/distant personality to not get too close to others b/c of her upbringing. But we all know Niles has a tendency to just dump his sad backstory on people at the drop of a hat.
> 
> Azura chapters might become a little more scarce in order to focus more on Corrin and Xander's side of things from here on out.


	24. Disconnect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corrin's qualms with the prince and her imprisonment are overshadowed by her own struggles with her identity - even after being bound to a dragonstone and regaining her human form, what she believes to be her 'true self' continues to haunt her. In the meantime, the fortress is stuck in limbo thanks to Xander's indecisiveness; he will neither send the dooming letter to his father, nor confront Corrin out of fear he may be swayed. Time catches up with him, however, as a guest arrives unannounced at the premises, threatening to end the tenuous equilibrium they've found.

It became a habit of Corrin’s to huddle up next to the window opposite her bed after sundown with a cup of tea. By this hour, the hearth had simmered down to a few glowing embers, so she’d bring a blanket with her and sit up on the sill. She’d forget about her anxieties and her life, instead focusing her sights on that singular rooftop as the crown prince stepped onto it as though he were a veteran of war stepping into a battlefield. Corrin had read countless stories since the day Azura first smuggled books into her cell, of topics varying from famous sieges to legendary duels between knights, but no amount of words was half as entrancing as seeing such actions with her own eyes. The fear that that blade, that refined technique, could at any point be turned against her still sat in her heart, but Corrin supposed her curiosity would be the death of her, because she was still interested in absorbing every detail of the swordsmanship.

She’d grown so afraid of the silence. All that had ever been audible in the spire was the muted crackling of the braziers outside her cell and the echoes of her own sobs. Every hour passed was spent awaiting the distant footfalls of the sorcerer, Iago, and the misery that followed each of his visits.

Later, once she’d lost herself completely, silence had meant a chance for destructive thoughts to take reign. Without some way to output her anger – notably, fighting the prince – she was stuck with that tempest inside her head, spurring her descent into madness. Now that she was herself again, the still nights had made it feel as though the world were closing in around her. With less distraction came more time for thoughts of her situation to fester, and for that creeping fear to seize her – fear that if she let her guard down, she may fall into insanity again. Even the scenery outside became something of discomfort; the mountains that at day entranced her turned into black Nohrian lances pointing down towards her, just like that day in Cheve, and the foreign sky was a reminder that she was far away from home – that home was unreachable. There was no way out, it whispered to her. _They_ could come any time to seize her and the equilibrium she found herself in could break in the blink of an eye.

So even on the coldest nights, Corrin cracked the windows  – once she was certain Felicia or Flora would leave her be until morning, wouldn’t barge in and shut them for her – and listened. Sometimes, the only mercy she was given was the howling wind as it blew through the hollowed-out landscape. But most nights, that prince was out training, so along with the wind came the sound of his heavy blade cutting through empty air.

She would sit and watch until her head slouched over and sleep took her. There was something intriguing about it, and she would observe the prince and try to digest each swing of his sword as if it were a sentence, conveying some emotion. His stance and swings would change as the sky went from indigo to violet to black, like a reflection of his mood. Corrin felt as if she were trying to read a book in a different language – if she just stared at the words for long enough, maybe she’d be able to understand.

But tonight was cold, the chill so strong that it was as though frost was creeping up from the gap between the glass and the fortress walls, and seeping beneath the blanket Corrin was wrapped in. Maybe when she woke in the morning, still curled up on the sill, she’d be frozen to it. But, to think, even in this temperature the prince was out training! What a reckless man, he was, swinging his sword like that as if he were going to run off and fight in a war the next day.

She exhaled through her nostrils. Around and around he paced, as if swordplay was all that mattered to him. She just couldn’t understand – how was he able to rest idle while he had full knowledge of her situation? Her hands balled into fists, squeezing the scratchy wool fabric. He was a prince – how could he not demand justice for one who had been as wronged by his country as her? Was it only because she was Hoshidan? Or did he really just think of her as nothing more than a weapon, even now? Did the gods simply pluck the hearts from all Nohrians the day they were born? She had often assumed this, but then people like Azura existed still, contradicting everything she thought she knew about the nation.

There was still some part of her that wanted to kill him.

Lilith hadn’t touched the subject again since that day, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they were forced to confront it again. If the prince sent a letter to the palace, the maid had told her that they had no choice but to take action. She bit her lip; it was raw and cracked from the dry air.

The astral dragon had been right. Killing him would make the likelihood of her escape much higher. No one could alert the king fast enough to stop them from at least escaping the mountains. And Corrin had already been trying to dismember him for so long now that it had come naturally to her, so why did her insides seem to stiffen at the thought now? Yes, he wasn’t his father, but he was still the crown prince. A loyal servant, one that would not hesitate to harm her and Azura…

…But he _had_  hesitated,hadn’t he? That was why she was still here, why her dragonstone was still with her and why she could watch the sunset with human eyes. Even now, as he trained on the rooftop, he was hesitating, though the options he had were clear to him.

He wouldn’t send the letter to his father as he said he had the first time they’d encountered. He kept her presence a secret from the guardsmen. He assigned his maids to look after her, to keep her _comfortable._ This couldn’t be how he treated all his prisoners, if he was anything like his father. And then at the end of each day, he’d go out and do _this_. Corrin didn’t understand why. As much as she wanted to despise him as Lilith seemed to, and to blame him for everything, she had a hard time doing so.

 _Is he truly guilty…? What right do I have to take his life…? Even after what his father did…_ She shivered. _But… I can’t kill in cold blood. I don’t want to give in to the_ other _side of me, either. I can’t give it that pleasure. If I took his life, wouldn’t that just prove I haven’t changed after all?_

The princess buried her chin in the blanket.

Stronger than the convenience his death would offer was her disgust with killing. Even after all the imprisonment and madness, the thought of taking the prince’s life twisted her gut. He was still Azura’s brother, even if his father was an evil murderer. He was still the brother of her other siblings, too. What if it had been Ryoma?

 _Ryoma._ He might not even _be_ alive, she realized. She hadn’t heard of her family at all since that day so long ago. Prince Xander’s swordplay became background noise as thoughts of them assaulted her once again.

 _No,_ she told herself, tugging at her hair, _I need to get home. I need to see them again._ Red eyes leered out the window, at the prince as his swings grew sloppy. _I’ll do whatever it takes to be with them again. And if I let the prince live, who knows how many Hoshidans he’ll kill? He could kill my own_ family, she realized, shivering beneath the heavy wool. _You’re right, Lilith. It’s just as Azura said. I need to fight._

Yet even as Corrin thought this, her will faltered and her blood froze in her veins. Hadn’t she given up on the prospect of going home years ago? After all, _nine_ had passed since she had arrived in Nohr. In all that time, even with an ally like Azura, she hadn’t been able to escape…

 Iago’s visage manifested in her mind as her eyes fluttered shut. He leered down at her, a smug chuckle rising in his throat, his hands wrapping around the bars of her cell in the spire. The metal sparked and glowed in protest to the touch as he bore his teeth at her like an animal.

 _“You’re never going home, foolish child. Do you truly think you could ever be able to escape from me? I have eyes everywhere. You? You are_ nothing. _A princess lost, who will never see the light of day again, at least not until I’ve broken you._

_“Did you think your family would try and save you? I can tell you with confidence that they do not care. They haven’t even declared war, even with knowledge of their beloved king’s death; no, instead your cowardly mother has put up a barrier around Hoshido and become a recluse. They are not coming for you. By now they’ve likely forgotten. And Azura?”_

He phased through the bars, and somehow his grin became _too_ wide, the ends of his mouth curling up into his cheeks. _“You think she can save you? She is powerless. If she tries anything,”_ he flicked his fingers, sending curls of scarlet flames rising into the air, “ _I will punish her in the blink of an eye. Do you understand?”_

He grew more impatient, his words coming faster as flecks of spit flew from his lips. “ _You’re nothing! Nothing but a tool for King Garon! Don’t you understand!?”_

She felt hot tears on her cheeks. He reached down and grabbed a wad of her hair, pulling her off of the ground. “ _It’s in your_ blood _, child! Can you truly blame us for what you will become? Even if we’d never captured you, you would’ve been killed, or would run rampant in the wilds for the rest of your life like an animal! You are_ not _human!”_

She wailed, wrapping her arms around her. Iago paused, and then dropped her to the ground. “ _You should be grateful,”_ he continued, a strange softness in his voice, and he reached down, fingers digging into her skin as he grabbed her chin and tilted her head up so she was forced to meet his gaze. “ _You should embrace it! The gods have granted you incredible power. You were not born to live out the tedious life of a royal. No, you were destined for greatness.”_ His other hand took hold of her right forearm, and held it up between them. It was bulging and malformed, twisted into a claw even though Corrin hadn’t even felt it happen. “ _Your body is proof!”_ His grip tightened. _“What difference does it make if it is Hoshido or Nohr you are fighting for!? In the end, you are made for destruction and whether you like it or not, you will crave it in the end. You’re never going to be like your siblings – like any of us. Now – transform, damn you!”_

Corrin wanted to vomit. The storm of emotions in her head pounded against the walls of her skull until eventually the headache was so much that things began to blur. Even as she heard her echoed cries attempting to deny Iago’s words, her mind and body were twisting so violently that she could find truth in them. Whatever she was, it wasn’t human. If she wasn’t human, how could she stand next to her siblings and act like she was one of them? What if this _was_ what she was born to do? To fight, be subjugated, and abandon humanity. Amidst her throbbing headache, Corrin heard anguished sobs devolve into roars, and then…

…The princess jolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest. Her spine snapped straight, bumping the back of her head against the wall. Her lungs seemed to be demanding air faster than she could breathe it, and she scrambled out from beneath the blanket, looking over her body. Relief slowly sank in when she realized she was still human, identifying the same pair of black stockings and the same white blouse as she had been wearing for days now. _It was a dream,_ she told herself. _It was a dream._ But her cheeks were still wet, and her scalp seemed to ache as if Iago still had her hair in his grip, short as it was. She brought up a hand to run through it, only to freeze when she got a closer look at it because it was… it _wasn’t…_

Corrin swallowed what would’ve been a scream as her eyes went wide. Five taloned claws, complete with obsidian scales that glimmered in the light of the fireplace, were in the place of her hand. And the appendage had grown in size enough that it’d torn the cufflink. The princess swallowed bile that’d been sitting in the back of her throat as she fumbled with the sleeve, pulling it back to reveal more scales coating her entire forearm. In a panic, and because she couldn’t tug the sleeve back any more, she ripped the fabric, shredding it until she found the spot where the scales ended and soft, pale skin returned – nearly at her shoulder.

She was shaking now, and she turned back to the window, groping around in the discarded blanket for her dragonstone. It shone as bright as a fire. Corrin clutched it close to her chest with her good hand and poured all of her focus into the shifted limb. It took all of her willpower to keep the scales from advancing any further up her arm, yet no matter what she did they would not recede; nor would her lightheadedness. The dragonstone shone like a beacon of light.

Corrin began to panic. What if she turned, fully? Here, in the bedroom? The maids would come rushing in… She might go on a rampage… The _prince_ would come, and then… and then, he might throw her back in her cell and lock her up again, and…

 _No._ She wouldn’t let that happen. Closing her eyes, Corrin steadied out her breathing, recalled the soft arpeggios of Azura’s song, pressed the dragonstone close to her chest, and then…

…All at once, her arm reverted, the excess cells dissipating into water-vapor and bubbles. The feeling was not unlike having one’s skin flayed and bones shattered at the same time.

Corrin fell to her knees. The stone hit the ground as her good hand reached for the blanket. She was barely able to shove her face into the thick layers of wool before she shrieked and shrieked and _shrieked_ , the horrible cries coming out choked as the her right arm seared hot as the sun. Eventually she bit into a mouthful of the fabric purely out of fear of waking someone up, muting her cries. It was too fast. Too sloppy. It wasn’t like when she’d been in the bath; then, she’d been calm, easing her arm back to its regular shape. Not like tearing a bandage off of a fresh wound. Corrin rolled onto her side with a groan, and in another hour she was unconscious, arms crossed tight as a knot even as she slept.

 

-*-

 

“Is everything okay, Corrin?”

Lilith and the princess ate their supper together in silence. Every now and then, Corrin stole glances at the maid – it might’ve just been her distorted sense of time at work, but Lilith appeared as if she hadn’t aged a day since they'd met in the astral plane. Perhaps it was just an attribute of astral dragons, she concluded, biting down hard on a particularly chewy chunk of chicken. Manaketes in fiction novels tended to show similar attributes – they maintained a childlike appearance for hundreds of years, and were capable of living for thousands, with the only threat aging posed being insanity.

Corrin had often labored over such thoughts about herself. Were the fairy-tales true? Did they apply to someone like her? But her body had more or less aged normally, and even with so much of her childhood wasted away in the crazed state of a dragon she felt _acutely_ aware of things now, and her mind as sharp as a blade. The tales of manaketes going insane is what truly shook her, since what she’d experienced was eerily similar. Her free hand squeezed around the dragonstone as she took another spoonful of soup, trying not to think of her nightmare.

The princess put on a half-smile. “Um, yeah.” Everyone always asked her that, but truthfully she wasn’t really sure what okay was supposed to mean anymore.

Lilith’s eyes, so bright and yellow compared to Corrin’s own deeper scarlet ones, found the rock her fingers were pinched around. “…You know about the dragonstone, don’t you? Its purpose?”

The princess had to force herself to let go of the object. She recalled Azura’s words – it was a container for her power, she should never let it go, it would allow her to control herself…

“Yes.”

A stiff silence followed, and Lilith bit her lip.

“You… you understand the risk posed if you lose it, yes?”

Corrin looked away. “I do. I’ll… go back to the way I was, won’t I?” It was pathetic, she thought, that she needed such an object to maintain her humanity. Or maybe she just wasn’t meant to be human in the first place, like Iago had said.

“That is true, to an extent, yes.” Lilith’s voice was weak, each word full of hesitation. “But…”

“But?”

“…Just… all dragons are cursed with the threat of insanity. I’m sure you’re aware, whether the songstress girl told you, or you read of it somewhere...”

Worrying her lip, Corrin nodded.

“It’s like an insidious illness, with a slow onslaught and the end result being…” The maid paled. “…being they lose any sense of morality, any feelings of love or compassion, and instead do everything in their power to cause destruction. There’s no cure for the illness, and few ways to slow its onslaught. All the stories of the First Dragons reflect this – they gave up their mortal forms in order to avoid degeneration and to keep themselves from ravaging all their hard work. They were all… lucky to have made that decision – that’s why Nohr and Hoshido are still here today. If they hadn’t, and they’d let the degeneration progress…” She finally peered up at Corrin, and her eyes had rounded into circles. “Who’s to say what the land would be like, now, or if you and I would even be here?”

Corrin gulped. “I… I’m aware of the stories. But I…” She fidgeted. “I’m not-“

“That’s right, you’re not _full_ dragon – you’re a hybrid, you only turn because of the potency of your blood,” Lilith blurted out in an attempt at reassurance. “But, just… degeneration can still affect you. You probably already know what I’m talking about.”

Corrin’s remembered clearly the hours upon hours she’d spent in the pen beneath the arena, ramming her horns against the walls, and how she would rush out in a fit of fury every time the gate was opened, set on dismembering every being in sight. It was unnerving to think about – that that was _her_. Her stomach threatened to reject the stew she’d wolfed down. “…Yes.”

“It’s likely what the king was trying to progress. If they had you fall far enough so that you were never able to change back again, they could manipulate you to serve them in battle. It’s what the prince was trying to accomplish, here, but…”

Corrin furrowed her brow as she stared into her bowl of soup. “It never got to that point. I was too distracted by – he looked too similar to his father, and even after I forgot about – about that time, he… the king always stuck in my head. It was all I thought about every time I saw him.”

“Yes,” reiterated Lilith. “…In any case, I… I just wanted to say…” She shifted in her chair and looked anywhere but at Corrin. “Even if it’s in different ways, degeneration still affects you. It’s… it’s an even greater threat to your well-being than Nohr or the king. You always, _always_ have to be vigilant, Corrin. You _cannot_ lose that dragonstone.” Then her lips wobbled into a smile, and she added, “You have a sweet personality, even if it hasn’t had time to blossom quite yet. I don’t want to see it stripped from you and replaced with insanity.”

Corrin blinked. “O-of course Lilith. I was never planning on…”

“I know,” said the girl, reaching across the table and folding a smaller hand around her own. “I… I just wanted to warn you of how important that is. I hope you never have to truly understand why.”

The princess fought back the confusion and unsettlement threatening to twist her features, and instead smiled for the maid. “Of course, Lilith.”

“And… I’m sorry I never told you this before. It was so dreadful back then, I didn’t know how that knowledge might affect you, or how you’d handle it…” She smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You seem much more mature now, Corrin. Stable.”

Corrin only hummed at the comment and went back to picking through her watery porridge. A slew of words weighed her jaw down, pressing against the insides of her teeth, but she would not voice them; it just didn’t feel right. She’d burdened Lilith with so much emotional baggage already.

 _I feel too empty, Lilith. Everything’s changed at once and I don’t even know what I’m_ doing _. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about things, how I should act… I’m so used to that primal anger driving me every waking hour that it’s like I’m lost without it. I don’t want to give in to those destructive urges, but I also don’t want to let the Nohrians do as they wish with me. I feel like a baby bird that’s just been tossed out of its nest and forced to fly. What do I even_ do _in this type of situation?_

In silence, they finished their meals – or, Lilith did, and Corrin picked away at as much as she could muster given the queasiness in her stomach that had still not settled. The dishes wobbled back in forth as the maid stacked them in her arms. Absently, the princess wondered aloud, “If degeneration is so difficult to halt, how did Azura’s song calm me, all those times…?”

Lilith nearly toppled over; the plates clattered against each other in the stack that rose over her head, and one fell from the top. In an instant Corrin was there, catching the dish before it could shatter against the floor. She straightened, eyeing the maid incredulously. “Lilith…?”

“I- I apologize, Lady Corrin,” she stuttered, steadying the load in her arms and glancing at the door. “And… I’m not sure about that. I’m aware certain individuals possess the power to bind dragonstones, but… what you’ve told me about her using a _song_ , I’ve… never heard of such a thing.”

“…Oh,” sighed the princess. “Okay. Well…” Carefully, she set the fallen dish back on top of the pile, and tried to catch Lilith’s gaze again, but she was looking anywhere but at her all of the sudden.  It was just like the other day, when she had asked about the fate of the astral dragons… “H-have a good night.”

“You too, Lady Corrin.”

 

-*-

 

Corrin still wasn’t accustomed to time being, well, a _thing_. It had meaning, it regulated schedules, told you when to eat and when to sleep, when Felicia would show up and when Flora would do the laundry, when Lilith would scurry across the fortress grounds to check for messenger birds, when the prince would take his stand on the roof below… In the past there hadn’t _been_ time, only Iago. There were instances when he or Azura visited, when she ate, and when she slept, the last two driven by instinct alone. That was it. But now she could see clearly that it was not Iago or one man who regulated these things, but time itself. Felicia and Flora didn’t control when she ate breakfast; time did. When Lilith told her word had arrived that the king had returned to Krakenburg, _that_ was regulated by time. The letter she awaited, the one from Azura’s butler that would tell of the Nohrian princess’s safety, would arrive not when someone willed it to arrive, but in ‘two day’s time’. Corrin had forgotten what it was like to see the sun rise and set in such a consistent way, and to have the time of day regulate her mood and activities, rather than Iago. It was a freedom she, quite frankly, had trouble handling.

If she was quick to adjust to anything, it was the pattern of movement across the fortress grounds. If her nose wasn’t shoved in a book during the waking hours, it was pressed against a window as she watched what little activity there was some ten stories down for hours on end. Corrin had the guard patrols memorized, and would always perk up when she spotted Lilith’s head of blue hair.

The Ice Tribe maids had mentioned it’d been around three weeks since Azura’s visit, and in each of the twenty-one days that those three weeks contained, Corrin had not once seen the man that was now making his way through the fortress gates.

“F… Felicia…?”

The name still felt awkward and wobbly on Corrin’s tongue. The maid in question stepped over to the princess, who was once again perched on the windowsill, one hand pressed up against the glass. She stiffened.

“What is it, Lady Corrin?” Morning grogginess was still obvious in Felicia’s voice, weighing it down and slowing each syllable. She was surprised that Corrin was even awake for her morning shift; the sun had only just risen, and on most mornings the girl slept in until sometime around noon.

“Who’s that?”

One long digit pointed downwards, towards the central courtyard. Rubbing at her eyes, Felicia followed the gesture, searching until she spotted a dark figure at the gates – a knight, mounted atop a large horse. “The prince…? No, it’s not…” That wasn’t the prince’s armor, not to mention Prince Xander had hardly lingered in the courtyards in the past few months. He’d take a ride or two, now and then, to keep his horse in shape, but certainly not this early in the morning, when the frost had not yet even melted from the ground. The man’s horse carried a banner of the Nohrian military, too.

Corrin scrambled to her feet. “Who is that?” she repeated, urgent, brow furrowed. “…He looks like…”

 

-*-

 

It had been ten days since Xander’s last encounter with Princess Corrin that the next debacle reared its ugly head. It was a shame, too, because the prince had finally managed to bury himself in enough paperwork to keep a level head. There’d been a sudden influx of letters concerning political and wartime affairs; his father had apparently just made an alliance with the eastern kingdom of Mokushu, and while it would be a great assistance in the coming war, it changed preparation requirements and strategies dramatically. Their leader, a brutish man named Daimyo Kotaro, had apparently demanded an absurd amount of gold to seal the deal, which first required the crown to allocate the resources for such a payment. In addition to this, Nohr still hadn’t come to an agreement with Cheve as to how many soldiers could be put aside for the invasion effort. And on top of this was the usual amount of strain the country came under as winter began.

Aside from all of that, Nohr itself was beginning to show signs of underlying tension - the _last_ thing they needed when war was on the horizon. All sorts of minor disagreements came up here and there in negotiations with Cheve – little details, like how many soldiers should be sent to a certain outpost, or in what ways Nohr would compensate the families of said soldiers, or how borders may or may not change postwar or whether that was even necessary… Little, but when Xander flicked through a stack of papers that served as a compilation of them all, relations with the southern country seemed to be more fragile than they’d thought. His father had done little to appease the nation, too, acting as he usually did; setting his demands in stone and paying very little heed to any objections. Xander could agree with that – it’s not like they had time for such meticulous negotiations, with the obvious threat of Hoshido looming over them from the east.

Less worrying – at least to Nohr – were the signs of rebellion in the annexed Ice Tribe territory. That old bear, Kilma – he was stubborn as ever, contesting more royal decrees than he and his people had the power to. Xander could admire that strength, but knew if things continued as they were, he would bump heads with his father’s equally hard skull and put his daughter’s lives in more danger than they already were.

It was taxing, sorting through the issues, but relaxing all the same. At the very least, the prince felt like he was fulfilling his duty, and had some semblance of control again – even if his current situation was anything but that.

So Xander had buried himself in such work, and perhaps irresponsibly, let more time pass than he was aware of. But he was starting to think it was cruel to not, at the very least, inform Corrin of her fate. Ignoring the issue altogether was the worst thing he could do; what kind of crown prince was too cowardly to face his problems and overcome them?

He’d been considering such things again one morning, lying motionless and staring up at the ceiling with glazed-over eyes, when a bang at the chamber doors sent him reeling out of bed.

“ _Prince Xander...! Lord Xander!!”_

Hurrying to his feet, the prince pulled his cloak over his shoulders and opened his door partway. Standing a head below him was Flora, white as a ghost.

“Prince Xander…!”

“Flora. What’s happened?” As reality sunk in, his nerves spiked – if she was this flustered and coming to _him¸_ that could only mean… The girl, the dragon -…

“It’s – someone’s here, milord. One of the king’s men. Sir Gunter, of the royal guard.”

“…What…!?”

 

-

 

Gunter was, and always had been, nothing short of impressive to Xander. No, rather, he was nearly on the same level as his father; a god-like status the prince could never hope to achieve. He’d known him well since he was a boy, and the knight had always been close with the king not just as a subordinate, but as a friend. He was proud, kept a level head, never questioned orders, stood with his back straight, and, like Garon was – or had been – had a stern-yet-kind demeanor that set the prince at ease.

Yet Xander had not seen the man in years, at least not up close. Aside from his bout of isolation in the fortress, the prince had thought it strange he’d not sighted the knight at the battle on the border, nor around the palace in the few visits he’d made back there. Ever since he’d lost his family, it seemed, Gunter had been distant.

As he stepped outside, Xander shivered. He’d hastily thrown on nicer attire before bundling back up in his cloak, but he’d only just rolled out of bed and his blood wasn’t really circulating yet.

Seeing Gunter waiting atop his armored stallion some ten feet from the keep changed that. Xander struggled to keep the shock from his face as he approached, the knight, holding his chin high, trying to fill his sputtering lungs with as much of the frigid air as he could without coughing. It suddenly felt like a long time since he’d last spoken formally with anyone.

“Sir Gunter. It is good to see you again.” The words were genuine.

“The same, Prince Xander. Good day.”

The knight wore a fair amount of armor atop heavy travel clothes, and a long violet cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, topped with white fur. His face had a few more wrinkles in it, his hairline a bit thinner, but the man still appeared as he did in his prime; imposing. In an instant, Gunter had dismounted and took a knee. Bowing his head, he began, “Forgive my tardiness. The weather hasn’t been cooperating.”

Xander nodded. “I… No, it’s quite alright. In fact… I… can’t say I expected you.”

Gunter looked up, wobbling as he stood at his full height again. “Yes, I heard from the guards. They said they had not received word, but… I was _told_ a letter was sent. Perhaps the messenger bird went astray…?”

The prince’s eyes narrowed. That was unlikely. He’d received plenty of mail from the capital lately concerning other affairs, and the birds had never failed him before, even in the dead of winter. “…Perhaps. Or it became a wyvern’s meal. Either way, I am at your service, Sir Gunter.” He met the older man’s gaze again, and stiff silence reigned between them before the knight held out a hand. Xander took it, hoping his gauntlets would cover up the fact that his hands were quaking.

As usual, Gunter’s shake was sturdy. “And I yours, Prince Xander. You’ve been sorely missed on the battlefield.”

A gust blew across the grounds, sending both their cloaks blowing around them. “Ah, what is it you came for…?” It took effort to keep dread from creeping into his voice, because he’d had a horrible feeling ever since Flora had uttered the word _Gunter_ that he knew what was going on.

Gunter scowled. “The dragon.”

 _As I thought,_ the prince lamented, holding back a sigh.

“I’m here on behalf of your lord father. He wishes for me to compile a report of your condition and report back to him. He also asked that I inform you in person that he expects your… business, here, to be tied up by winter’s end.”

Xander only blinked, not allowing his expression to betray the turmoil he felt at the words. His father knew more or less of what was going on, since he had biweekly reports written out to the castle, but the fact that he sent a knight such as Gunter to tell him to crack down on things… He must be getting impatient. That, or suspicious. Did Gunter have an ulterior motive? Perhaps his father already knew of Azura’s actions, and was here to see if Xander would lie? But there was no way of telling.

The prince squared his shoulders. “Ah, I expected as much. It shouldn’t be an issue.” The words had fallen from his mouth before he could think. No, he _couldn’t_ tell the knight what had happened. No matter how much of an ally to the prince he seemed to be, Xander’s father was above them both, and the veteran wouldn’t be fool enough to betray his king for some Hoshidan princess, no matter how vile the circumstances were.

Gunter’s gaze wandered across the fortress before pausing on the pit where the dragon’s pen was set up. “I take it that’s the site? Hmm, I’ll have a look, then.”

He had taken some ten or fifteen paces before Xander caught up with everything that’d been said and hurried after the knight. “Wait – Hold on…”

Gunter gave the prince a quizzical glance over his shoulder. “What is it? Is that not where the beast is being kept?”

Xander’s pulse spiked. “No – no, it’s…” He gestured towards the main keep. “It’s only that you must be exhausted from your travels, Sir Gunter. It would do you well to take a moment’s rest, and get something in your stomach.”

The knight turned around all the way, and his rugged features began to shift painstakingly slow. Xander could only hope he didn’t sound like a bumbling fool, that he hadn’t already betrayed the secret he was hiding.

“Hah! Well, I must _look_ just as worn out as I feel, then,” bellowed Gunter, and to Xander’s relief he started for the keep instead, patting the prince’s shoulder on the way. “Right you are, lad. This air has been nothing but brutal on my old bones. I can only wonder why his majesty sent me instead of some younger knight with enough energy for a trip like this. I’m sure you have some setting up to do, as well, yes? I should leave you to it.”

The prince stood frozen in place until the doors to the great-hall closed behind Gunter. A heavy sigh escaped his lips in a cloud of vapor that the bitter morning air was quick to seize, and, though his neck ached in protest, he craned his neck upwards until his sights were set on the top of the tallest tower.

Jaw clenched, Xander thought, _what am I going to tell her?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being too long for just one chapter, so the rest will be in the next.
> 
> The way I see that part with Corrin and her arm is like, unless you're in the right state of mind when you're messing with dragon powers, you can end up hurting yourself whether it's physically or mentally. Also in general having your arm just totally fuck up and restructure itself all at once has definitely got to hurt. x_x


	25. Tallies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gunter's sudden arrival forces Xander into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow, two months flew by before I could get back to this!! Last month of the semester was just straight up evil, then I got caught up with vacation/holiday/travel stuff, & by the time I polished off this chapter enough to post it I was so far through the next that I figured I'd just wait and post both of them at the same time. If you're reading this right now, thanks for putting up with the long wait!! (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

 

The hearth in the central keep of the Northern Fortress blazed as the hour hand on the clock hanging just above the mantle clicked past ten-o’-clock. The rest of the staff, now fully roused, had been quick to prepare things for their guest. Lanterns normally left unlit shone brightly; every surface in sight was cleared of dust; ornate violet tablecloths had been pulled out from a cabinet and draped across each of the six benches, with a set of candles resting atop each. Flora was scurrying in and out with all sorts of breakfast items, and Lilith, after securing Gunter’s mount in the stables, had seen to helping the man out of his armor. Felicia was nowhere to be found.

Winter air rushed in around Xander’s frame as he reentered the building, his insides still feeling as if they were frozen solid. He felt the eyes of everyone in the room land on him before quietly flicking away, all except Gunter, who’d settled down at one of the tables and was doing a number on a bread roll.

He didn’t wish to be rude, and etiquette urged the prince to have a proper conversation with the knight before he simply jumped right into the main event – which was another problem on its own, but either way he needed to buy time. Loosening his cloak, Xander settled down on the seat across from Gunter, managing a cordial smile. “If you don’t mind me joining you – I thought it a bit rude of me to not greet you properly, Sir Gunter. I’d imagine we have much to catch up on.”

The old knight returned the smile, giving back a steady nod. “Of course, Prince Xander. Forgive me if I’m rushing into things. The past few days have been nothing short of laborious.”

Warmth soon filled the large hall, along with the groggy chatter of the other guardsmen and the scent of salt, spices, and broth. Gunter was fast to get comfortable – understandable, considering the journey up here must have been grueling for a man of his age – and began answering some of the starry-eyed guard’s inquiries about the army, his experiences, and his past with the king.

They were all things Xander had more or less heard before, so the prince slowly tuned out of their chatter. But this was due more to the fact that he was on the brink of a god-awful panic attack.

Gunter wanted to see the dragon. He wanted to see the dragon and it – _she_ was… Gods, what was he going to do? He couldn’t simply send the knight on his way without drawing suspicion because _why_ would it be an issue to show him the dragon if nothing was out of the ordinary? Beneath his folded arms, Xander’s fists clenched, and his expression fell into his usual scowl. Lying to Gunter was essentially lying to his father, especially considering the man was here on _his_ orders. How could he even consider such a thing? But then… the alternative…

“Are you alright, lad?” The knight’s tenor, directed in his direction now, drew Xander from his daze.

“Yes,” he replied, “forgive me. Last night was a late one, unfortunately; I… was sending out a response to the Chevois ambassador.” Leaning forward in his seat, he added, “I’ve heard unfortunate things about relations there. What is your impression?”

Gunter’s face darkened. “Ah… It’s worse than you might think. I’ve been through the place more often than not, recently. For one, they have a rebellion faction that’s been gaining tract…”

 

-*-

 

It took time, but soon Gunter was invested enough in food and conversation that Xander could excuse himself and slip away. He meandered over to the stairway, and once he was out of sight, began to ascend the towers as fast as he could.

He took only a brief moment to catch his breath when he finally reached the top of the highest spire before barging through the door to his old quarters. Corrin, of course, was awake, and she rounded on him instantly, eyes wide. Given how bewildered she was, he figured she already knew something was amiss.

“You-!” Her knees bent and she stumbled away as he approached until her back was against the window. His eyes flicked to the dragonstone in her grasp; white knuckles folded around its edges, just faintly aglow. “You… Are you finally going to do it? D-deliver me to the king? That’s… what that man is here for, isn’t it…?” Her voice trembled; despite the angry lines on her face there was more fear than anything else behind her words.

“Listen closely,” he pressed, stopping a safe distance away from her. “I wasn’t _aware_ my father was sending anyone to check in on you. He _hasn’t_ , until now. This is just as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”

She paled. “S-so he _is-“_

“But - I don’t plan on informing him of what happened. That’s not what’s important right now.”

“What…“ She trailed off, tripping over her sentence, and the prince took the opportunity to continue.

“What I need,” he said, raising his voice over her mumbling, “is your cooperation. If he’s to return to the castle without any suspicions, I’ll need you to work with me.” Xander allowed the words to sink in, and took another breath, still winded from the trip up the stairs. When she didn’t reply, he continued. “The man is a knight of my father’s, part of his main guard. He’s come to gather a personal report on… on _you_. If he’s not shown that my father’s weapon is still here and alive, the report will sound much more suspicious. Do you realize the dilemma we’re in?”

Corrin bit her lip. “If… if you’re _not_ going to turn me in to him, then what _do_ you intend to do…?”

He tensed. “I assume that is a dragonstone you hold. How capable of using it are you?”

The girl eyed the item in question, then looked back up at the prince, brow furrowed. “I’m…” She bit down on her lip, then said, “I… can use it, I think…”

“You’re certain?” There was no room for slip-ups. If they didn’t go all in, Gunter would know something was amiss and the report he gave back to his father and Iago would reflect as much. “You’re certain you can maintain it? Without…”

“I… should be able to,” Corrin responded, but her voice was laden with uncertainty, and she’d sort of shrunk into herself, too.

Xander looked past her, out to the castle grounds and the arena that sat deserted, untouched for weeks now. All he needed was one convincing show to put on to get Gunter out of his hair… then, _then_ he could figure _something_ out.

This had to work. He would make it work.

 

-*-

 

The shadows of the fortress shortened and blurred as the day matured. Inside the tower, jittering tension filled the walls of Xander’s quarters to the brim, threatening to shatter the windows surrounding it.

After explaining his makeshift plan to the princess to the best of his ability – who, he noted, seemed much too willing to go along with it than she should’ve been, all things considered, but that was a concern for another time – Xander had fetched her armor from the other room, getting Felicia to help Corrin into it. His impatience seemed to have no limit, and each second that ticked away on the clock put him more and more on edge. He fastened on his own armor on as the maid attempted to fit the Hoshidan into hers. If Corrin had any protests about wearing it, she didn’t voice them. The silence hanging in the air was filled only by the shifting of metal plates and the occasional slide of a strap or buckle.

When she’d done all she could, Felicia was dismissed to go assist with the situation downstairs, as well as inform Flora and Lilith in private as to what was truly going on. All that was left was leading Corrin outside without getting spotted.

As the door clicked shut after the maid, Xander was left standing in the center of the room, and Corrin staring miserably out into the distance, fully adorned in that strange set of armor. Her posture, stiff and lopsided, told him she was more than uncomfortable wearing it. The last time she had been, she was manic and attempting to claw it off of her body, and now Xander could only be reminded of that image, of how disturbed she’d been. Something like guilt scratched at his insides but he made himself ignore it, because pity would not get rid of Gunter.

Corrin cast a cautious glance over her shoulder at him before turning back to the window.

Xander narrowed his eyes. “Is something the matter?” There was no time for questions, but if she was starting to doubt she could carry through with the plan, then he had to know.

“If…” She trailed off, her feet shifting around, then she spoke again, her back still to him.  “If you don’t want him to know about me, why not just send him away?”

The prince grimaced. “As I said, doing such a thing would only draw suspicion from my father.” _And bring Azura under suspect, in turn –_ the words were unsaid, but he supposed Corrin knew that as well as he did, given the fragility of the whole situation.

She finally turned, but didn’t meet his gaze. “You would rather lie?”

Xander’s fingers twitched at his sides, sweat forming in his palms beneath the heavy gauntlets covering them. “I do what I see fit as crown prince. If that means hiding a truth that might cause more harm than it would good…” And then he ran out of words, drew a blank, leaving the unfinished thought out to hang in the choking air of the bedroom. _No… what am I saying, anyways? Obeying Father comes first._ But the thought felt almost superficial. _Obeying Father has_ always _come first. Certainly he’s made mistakes I’ve had to adjust myself to, but…_ The prince tensed, because it was almost like he was trying to _convince_ himself of something that’d always held true for him.

Meanwhile, Corrin was either satisfied with his response, or didn’t have it in her to voice any further objections. She drifted away from the window sill, dragonstone in her right hand, her left clutched above her heart. Her face was exceedingly pale, not unlike the night she’d first turned up, and she kept her head bowed over, letting her uneven bangs cover her face.

Xander regarded her with one last conflicted stare before starting for the door.

“Come on, then.”

 

-*-

 

Soon, the pieces were set in place. Corrin had been left off in the pit that’d once housed her, with a barely-compliant Lilith to assist however needed, while everyone else’s attention had been elsewhere. Now, the Ice Tribe siblings stood on the edge of the arena, shivering, ready to leap into action should something go wrong. A dozen training dummies had been dragged out into the field, too, one half with banners of red and white tied to their backs, the other with banners of violet, all of them whipping in the wind.

If it was possible, the air had grown even more frigid than it’d been that morning. The usual Nohrian gloom rested low over the mountains, blocking out most of the sunlight the winter months were kind enough to offer. The crown prince, now fully equipped in battle gear save for the bronze blade he held in place of Siegfried, accompanied Gunter, who’d also redressed, out into the windswept courtyards. The guardsmen all watched from the sidelines in relative awe, because _when_ was the last time they’d seen the prince venture out to the arena? He’d rarely even worn his armor lately. He was like a different person, a being separate from the slump of a boy that had been moping around the fortress for the past two months. Seeing his visage beside Gunter filled their hearts with pride.

“…But despite all the difficulties, I do feel some progress has been made,” the prince was saying, expression stern.

“That’s good,” Gunter chimed, patting the boy on the shoulder. “You’re much too hard on yourself. Garon be damned; the man’s put you through hell since you were a child, anyway, if I may be frank.” His grip tightened, and the two stopped at the edge of the arena, beside one of the restraining pillars. Xander looked up at the knight, and found a worn veteran of war staring back at him, the very ideal a Nohrian could wish to embody. “You’ve grown into a fine young prince, Xander. I hope to see you back on the field soon. Your men need you.”

“…I hope to be leading them again, soon,” responded the prince, voice tight.

Then the moment passed, and Gunter chuckled as he trudged forward. “Your retainers do, as well. I’ve heard they’ve been up to some mischief. It would do them well for you to tighten the leash, before Garon or I decide to step in and do so instead.”

Xander’s mood fell. He hardly expected his bizarre set of retainers to behave in his absence. But it was comforting, still, to be reminded that there was something waiting for him, something he had to go back to, a responsibility he _wasn’t_ going to mess up. “Of course.”

The air was buzzing as the prince made his way over to the gate leading into the dragon’s den. With a heavy pull of the lever, the bars clattered into the ground. Out of habit, he took a few cautious steps back, and held up a hand to Gunter to urge him away, as well. Falling back into this set of motions was surreal after everything that had transpired; all of the sudden those endless days of training felt like a lifetime ago. As he stared into the dark tunnel before him his thoughts went to Corrin, of the night she’d told her story to him, the cruelties she’d endured for so many years, and again his stomach threatened to reject the breakfast he’d fed it.

Seconds ticked by, without any sign of movement from within. Xander begged his plan would work, that Corrin had been able to turn, that she had not been plotting something of her own that would mess everything up, that she would just _cooperate_ despite all the reasons not to…

 _Gods, what am I_ doing? he thought again, glaring into the hole in front of him.

Deep within the chamber, chains started to clink together; somewhere behind Xander, Gunter shifted, readying his lance. The prince fell into a defensive stance, partly for show and partly out of habit.

The glint of scales in the shadows soon turned into the outline of a reptilian form, and then the dragon – Corrin, that is, Xander had to remind himself of the fact – sauntered into the light. He took a few more strides back, positioning himself a fair distance away. As long as she had a dragonstone, she would have control, right…? But he had to remain wary. Even with how accustomed he was to dueling with her, all it would take was one slip-up, one moment in which he let down his guard for a set of claws to be at his neck.

But from the moment it – she – crawled out of the pen the change in her demeanor was obvious. She carried herself completely differently. Where her head would once be lowered, swaying back and forth, it was held high and steady, twitching every now and then in observance of their surroundings. The appendages just beyond her antlers would normally be lashing this way and that, slowing only when she was hit with a heavy blow or worked to exhaustion. Now they wavered to and fro easily, almost like the tail of a cat would. Most obvious was how she moved; she took slow, patient, almost _cautious_ steps towards them, mindful of the chains dangling near her legs. Where the dragon had once acted like a crazed dog, it now held the demeanor of a timid deer.

Taking a quick breath, Xander searched her head for any kind of acknowledgement or sign that _she_ was there, but found nothing. It wasn’t like she had eyes – visible, at least – that he could meet, and he certainly couldn’t ask outright if she was fully present with everyone around.

Corrin continued her advance, pacing diagonally back and forth across the gray dirt, gradually covering more and more ground. Xander backpedaled in response, boots scraping, and Gunter followed suit.

 “It’s quite the beast,” remarked the knight with an uneasy chuckle. “I understand now. It’s nothing at all like the wyverns, in form nor in demeanor...”

Xander grunted in agreement.

She shifted her direction, growing closer still, chains clunking against each other until they grew taut. No, she definitely had to be conscious, thought the prince, not able to tear his gaze away. Never had he seen the dragon move like this before, after all, with such restraint. Had it truly worked?

Gunter was out of range by now, thanks to the harness secured around the dragon’s midsection. The knight lowered his lance, and simply took in the sight of the beast before him. “Those claws are something else, as well. My god, this thing could dismantle a man with ease… It’s no wonder King Garon has taken such precautions in readying it for battle… …Oh, don’t you mind my rambling, though. Carry on.”

Xander did as told. The less he listened to Gunter’s words, the less dirty he would feel about lying to the man about everything. Corrin’s approach had been slow but steady and now she was nearly upon him; just two more steps and she’d be close enough to pounce, closing his neck between her jaw in an instant. Was she being docile on purpose, to fool him into letting his guard down? Or was she truly, fully there, and going along with their act? There was no way of telling.

Xander urged his nerves to calm.

“It seems different than how you’ve all described it, though, somehow,” commented Gunter to himself. “I imagined it much more ferocious.”

Shifting, the prince noticed that Corrin’s talons had planted themselves in the dirt. She’d come to a total stop; she wasn’t pulling against the chains, nor was she making any attempt to close the gap and engage him. He looked up, having to crane his neck to find her head. The midnight scales and swirling layers of silver told him nothing.

But a minute passed, and then another, and she did not grow any more agitated. Xander disregarded the whispers coming from the guards at the sidelines.

He lowered his blade.

“…Prince Xander?” Gunter’s tone held mild concern. “Are you certain-“

The prince glanced behind him and held up a hand. “It’s alright.” He had to force out the words, “this is what I’ve accomplished so far in training. However, I’m not certain how it might react if you were to get too close; for now, you should keep your distance.”

“…I understand,” replied the knight, sporting a few more wrinkles on his face.

Corrin stood completely still before the prince, save for her tail, which twitched back and forth in the dirt.

 _What next,_ she seemed to be asking.

Jaw clenched, Xander set his sights on the training dummies.

 

-*-

 

 _Stay calm,_ Corrin told herself as she stared down the crown prince. The man who resembled _so_ much his father - at least in this orientation, when her senses were twisted. He wasn’t the pale, stoic, and overtired person she’d seen from before. Cold, sleek armor made up of strange and foreign curves, covering like a shell a hot interior that reeked of dragon’s blood. Emanating from him was the same stench that had clogged her nose since that day. _Stay calm._ Behind him stood that foreign man, and he, too, stunk of the king. The smell of the castle she’d been stuck in. But she could tell he was twice as dangerous and on-edge as the prince was, and kept her distance.

 _Stay calm,_ she thought again, because she couldn’t ruin things now.

…

_Stay calm._

“Stay calm, Corrin.”

The sound of Lilith’s voice, her repeated urging of Corrin to concentrate, began to change. The words grew echoed and quiet and then unbearably loud to her ears… but Corrin repeated the words, in her head or aloud she wasn’t sure, as she clutched the girl’s hand like a lifeline. Her dragonstone was tucked beneath her armor somewhere lest she drop it once she shifted, buried, so even if she wanted to squeeze it until it shattered under her inhuman grip, she couldn’t.

It was painful and _horrible_ and shook her to the core in a way she hadn’t expected it to. She’d always lose part of her consciousness far before any changes occurred, and even if she’d felt anything back then, she hadn’t remembered it. But now that gap was gone – the dragonstone served as a sturdy bridge between her two forms, keeping her fully conscious even as her body felt like it was tearing itself to shreds.

Her senses were first to go; it started as a distant buzzing in her ears and a blurring of her sight before changing rapidly, like someone had shoved a ladle into her head and was stirring around her brain-matter like it was soup. Light numbness settled over her muscles before they, too, started twisting, happy to be free of their bonds. There was no keeping track of what was going on – everything was one big agonizing blur as bones seemed to break and then snap back into a different place, skin and sinew stretched in ways it shouldn’t, the softness of her skin she’d grown accustomed to vanished and was instead replaced with the revolting feeling of scales, her entire composition warped into something different and it was _sickening_ …

Yet even more of unnerving to Corrin were the emotions stirred back up when she tapped into the dragonstone’s reserves. All of what had settled and frozen over in the recesses of her mind started to thaw, a faint tickle in the center of her skull that threatened to take over again. She was aware enough to know what this meant, and poured all her focus into keeping it contained. _Stay calm,_ she was thinking now, _stay calm,_ she couldn’t hear Lilith anymore and she couldn’t feel the maid’s tiny hand in her large one. There was no turning back now – even if Corrin was capable of stopping she wouldn’t. She was determined to get through this and to prove to herself that no matter what, she was still herself.

When all was said and done, a strange comfort settled over the princess. Despite everything, there was some kind of familiarity to the form. _Of course,_ she thought, _because I’ve been stuck in it for so long…_ yet she still felt a dizzy spell come over her when she looked down and saw oversized claws beneath her rather than pale hands, felt the weight of horns atop her head, stretched her back and felt _wings_ flex out in tandem.

“…Corrin?”

Taking a deep breath, two, three… she located Lilith’s much smaller frame standing a few feet in front of her. The maid’s heart was racing, her own breathing shallow; heat emanated from her skin and her feet shuffled against the dusty ground. Like a petrified mouse. She was waiting, the princess realized, unsure if the thing in front of her was going to attack her or not.

Summoning up her voice, she responded, “…I’m okay.”

 

-*-

 

In barely an hour, Xander and Corrin had managed to run through an impressive amount of exercises, with very little trouble despite their inability to communicate verbally. First they’d dispatched training dummies; their technique wasn’t anything special, and there certainly wasn’t any coordination to their movements, but their acting must have been convincing in some aspect because Gunter’s face, always so hard and stoic, had been lifted in surprise when all was said and done. Following this, some of the guards were brought onto the field, their knees quivering like they were nothing but twigs. The faux-battle that ensued was anything but impressive, on both sides, and Xander had a nagging concern through its duration that Corrin might overestimate her strength and actually harm one of them. But when they’d at last finished, the men lay scattered across the arena, disarmed and winded but not wounded in the least. Gunter had actually clapped; Xander himself was taken aback by her skill and restraint.

As things began to wind down and the guards peeled themselves out of the dirt, the two knights again chattered about this and that – war plans, how a dragon could be incorporated into tactics on the battlefield, and so forth. Lilith, in the meantime, emerged from the sidelines and wordlessly led Corrin back into the pit.

As expected of Nohr’s winter, it was already beginning to grow dark, and the usual creeping cold night brought was settling in. After a pause in their conversation, Gunter observed as much, adjusting his collar as he did.

“In any case, we’d best leave this weather behind us, milord. We can continue our chat inside – and I’ll dig those letters from the Duke of Cheve out of my bags, as well, for you to examine.” With that, the knight trudged away, wind whipping thin strands of hair around the side of his head.

Xander paused, his feet glued to the ground. Betraying him, his eyes flicked to the pit, where Lilith and Corrin had yet to emerge from.

Noticing the lack of footsteps, Gunter looked back at the prince. “Is something the matter?”

“I…” His brow furrowed as more wind tumbled in over the ramparts. “Go on; I’ll join you shortly. I should… check in on the dragon’s food supply before heading in for the night.” Each word of the lie seemed to be engraving itself in his heart, adding a tally to the count already there.

A few seconds of hesitation was the only sign of question Gunter gave before he obliged, turning heel and heading for the keep. Xander watched him go, his muscles stiff and frigid even after all their usage in the bout, and as if nature wished to rub salt in his wounds, a violent gust blew across the grounds, right through his armor.

When Gunter’s frame finally disappeared into the building, the prince turned and let himself into the cell. Cautiously, he made his way to the bottom of the pit, his mouth feeling dry all of a sudden. As his eyes grew used to the low lighting, he was able to make out two figures huddled together on the ground.

Lilith and Corrin – the latter, thank the _gods_ , back to her human shape.

He kept his distance, at first. His body refused to move any closer to the duo for some reason he couldn’t identify. Xander was the prince of a kingdom of conquerors yet he felt it was not his place to invade their space in this moment. His mouth twisted into a frown as he struggled to find words.

The Hoshidan princess was keeled over, sitting atop her knees and curled into herself. Similarly to the first night he’d found her, her arms were wrapped around her midsection, fingers digging into the grooves of her armor. She was visibly shaking, and the silence that would’ve otherwise inhabited the pit was instead replaced by sharp, uneven gasps for breath. Lilith knelt beside Corrin, hunched almost protectively over her. One of her hands rested on the girl’s plated back, the other against her upper arm. Worry twisted her brow and curved her lips in a show of emotion he couldn’t recall ever seeing on the usually stoic maid. She muttered quietly into Corrin’s ear, and then her head whipped around, fixing a hostile glare at Xander. In the darkness, her huge, yellow eyes seemed almost as inhuman as the princess’s.

He swallowed, focus moving back to Corrin. “You… did well,” he mustered, knowing well the absurdity of his words. “Gunter seems fully convinced.”

To his surprise, Corrin actually reacted to his words. The tiny plates lining the back of her armor clicked as her spine straightened, until she was on her hands and knees, elbows wobbling like her arms were about to give way. Slowly, her head tilted upwards until she was leering at him from beneath thick, misplaced bangs. The ends of her hair stuck to her neck, damp with sweat.

He waited, mouth half-open even though he didn’t really have any words left to offer. Corrin’s lips twisted like she was about to say something, a sound rising in her throat – then she lowered her head again and vomited instead.

Lilith jumped back into action, rubbing Corrin’s back even though the sheets of metal linked around it probably kept her from feeling the motion. Her other hand drew the girl’s short hair away from her sweat-laden face as she continued spitting up the contents of her stomach.

Xander finally tore his eyes away from the scene, feeling sick himself. What the hell was he doing, congratulating her on a job well done? After forcing her into something that might as well have been traumatic? His eyes scoured the floor until they found her discarded dragonstone lying there, so dull and nondescript that it blended in with the rest of the gray rock that made up the pen’s interior.

As he retreated, he felt Lilith’s scrutinizing gaze on his back, and he didn’t have it in him to address it. The sound of Corrin’s violent retching followed him all the way back up to the surface. Discreetly, he shut the cage behind him, but left it unlocked.

His hand hovered over the lever for a while, neck tilting back. There was always less lightning in the clouds this time of year, but a few strikes could be seen in the twenty or so seconds he stood there staring. It’d probably snow again, soon. As if the gods of nature were privy to his misdeeds, another gale of biting cold whipped relentlessly across the castle grounds, and for some amount of time Xander just waited there, taking it, wishing to be swept away because whatever path he’d have to walk from now on, he was certain it’d make death seem like a mercy.

But soon Gunter’s voice rang again in his head, a reminder, and the other part of Xander - the nicely-groomed prince - took over, urging his feet to move again because it was rude to keep a knight of his caliber waiting. In the fifty or so steps between the arena and the doors of the main keep he wiped any conflicting emotions from his mind, cleaned the slate, and dropped back into the role he was used to. It was all he could do, for now.


	26. A Burdened Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big cw on this chapter for themes/thoughts of suicide; please read at your own discretion!
> 
>  
> 
> this one's like absuuuurrrrdly long, but it's another pretty big turning point in the story so that's my only excuse as to how it reached 10k words LMAO

Stillness greeted Xander when he woke, like time had suspended within his room. The space was lit only by a set of candles on his night stand, and outside, the world was still dim. The only indicator that it was finally morning was the prince’s growling stomach, and the fact that the sky was just a little bit lighter than the last time he’d seen it – around forty minutes ago, maybe.

It’d been the most fitful sleep he’d had in a while. He sat halfway up in bed, sheets and blankets a mess; the latter had almost fallen all the way to the floor, the former tangled around his legs. A series of shivers made him reach for the blanket and wrap it around his shoulders. Though he was dressed appropriately for the temperature, he’d sweat so much that his skin was all the more sensitive to the cold air. Folding his legs, he slumped forwards and buried his face in a hand.

Xander was certain he’d barely gotten two hours of actual rest. A malicious combination of stress, anxieties, fears, and plain old nightmares plagued him since the moment he’d settled down some eleven or so hours earlier. Given how early it’d gotten dark, and how exhausted Gunter had still been from his journey, they’d all agreed to turn in early for the night. Part of Xander had wanted to visit Corrin beforehand and say something more meaningful about what she’d done earlier, but halfway up the stairwell he’d come to the conclusion that nothing he spat out at her would put either of them at ease, and he had turned around, relenting to the fatigue weighing on his shoulders. Yet even if he’d been tired enough that he could barely think straight, sleep hadn’t given him any mercy.

Now that he was fully awake again, his body felt ten times as worse as it had the night before; his muscles were stiff and sore like he’d just fought off an army, his stomach churning like he’d ingested a bottle of poison. Xander had pulled plenty of all-nighters in the past and was accustomed to not getting a lot of sleep given his tendency to overwork, but this felt different. He felt, plain and simple, _weak_. As he threw on fresh clothes and worked his crown beneath his bangs, he entertained one of the many fears swirling in his head – like this, with his guard down and his walls weakened, he might let something slip out in conversation, utter something unfiltered that Gunter’s ears could pick up on.

Taking a deep breath, Xander reassured himself that he knew better than to let such things slip. Especially anything concerning Corrin’s identity. Besides – Gunter was set to leave today, and had a nice, clean report to give to his father. Hopefully, the man had gotten a better night’s rest than the prince had.

 

-*-

 

On the ground floor, things were quiet. The banquet hall was deserted, though the smell of yesterday’s feast still lingered faintly in the air. Absently, he noted that the staff had done a good job of cleaning up.

The prince seated himself at one of the benches and spaced out until clutter and noise caught his attention again. He relaxed when he realized it was coming from one of the closets, or perhaps the kitchen – a moment later, Felicia emerged from the shadows, jumping when she noticed him.

“Oh, Lord Xander,” she peeped, nearly dropping the pile of supplies in her arms. He couldn’t be bothered to identify what it was she was taking, but likely it was needed in the kitchen in the upper tower to prepare breakfast for Corrin. “Good morning.”

A reply didn’t come to him quick enough, so he instead regarded her with nothing more than a blank stare.

The maid’s polite smile faltered and she shuffled towards the stairs before stopping again and addressing him. “U-uh… Just… Out of curiosity, Lord Xander. About…” her voice quieted. “A-about Corrin… And Sir Gunter… What do you plan on doing?”

Xander’s eyes widened a bit, like he’d realized something, before he slumped back over, chin falling into one of his palms propped up on the table. “I don’t know,” was his reply.

Felicia bowed to the best of her ability, and said no more. He listened until her footsteps faded, then zoned out again, half-dozing.

At some point, Flora came by and started preparing some dishes. Guards shifted in and out, chattering as they passed each other, but none of them acknowledged the prince. An hour later, Gunter showed up. Given the man’s great presence, it was nearly impossible to miss him, and Xander finally stood from the bench, wincing as his body protested the sudden movement.

“Gunter,” he greeted, pulling his lips into a smile. “Good morning.”

“Prince Xander,” returned the man, nodding as he walked over to the bench. “Up and running already? As diligent as ever, you are.”

A sound resembling a chuckle pushed its way out of the boy’s throat. “Hm, well. How did you sleep?”

Gunter took a seat beside Xander, his massive frame sinking the wood of the bench down a little. “Surprisingly well; but I suppose that’s what happens when an old man like me makes a trek like that.” He glanced down at the prince. “And you?”

“Hmm, much the same,” he mumbled with a nod, eyes flicking away. The bags beneath them probably told the knight he was lying.

“You’ll get accustomed to sleeping places much less comfortable than here, after you have a few more years of war under your belt, lad,” added Gunter with a laugh. “In any case, I’d best leave as soon as I can. The skies seem clear enough right now, but I don’t want to risk running into any blasted snowstorms before I make it out of the mountains.”

“I understand,” Xander replied. “I’ll have supplies prepared for you immediately.”

 

-*-

 

With few complications, Gunter was soon standing in the entrance of the keep, a dozen or so satchels slung over his shoulders and hanging off of his belt. Head to toe, he was bundled up in thick travel clothes. Flora, Felicia, Xander, and the rest of the guards stood in a semi-circle around him, saying their good-byes and safe-travels. The man’s face had twisted into something of a somber expression as he assessed them, though whether it was because he’d actually miss them or because he knew he had a long, ugly journey ahead of him, it was hard to tell.

Interrupting Felicia’s worried mumbling, one of the doors opened partway behind Gunter, and a head of sapphire hair poked inside.

“Pardon me, my lords, erm…” She shuffled in further. “Your mount is ready, Sir Gunter.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s my cue, then,” he said, heaving two more bags up off the ground and turning. “So long, then. Flora, Felicia, I’ll be sure to give your regards to that ill-mannered butler friend of yours.”

Noticeably, Flora smiled.

The prince followed Gunter outside to see him off properly. It’d lightened a bit in the past hour or so, enough that one wouldn’t need a lantern to navigate the winding paths through the mountains, but only a fool would have actually expected the temperature to warm in response. Xander winced despite himself as the frigid air met his face like a bucket of ice-water.

 Lilith began helping the man strap some of his supplies to the horse’s saddle, darting around the animal like a fly. In the meantime, Gunter turned back to Xander and regarded him with scrutiny.

He was about to ask if something was amiss when the knight spoke. “Xander. Are you certain you’re well? I can imagine being put in your situation for the amount of time it’s been could be taxing, even for one as steadfast as you.”

“I-…” The prince tripped over his words, caught off-guard by the serious question. Gunter’s expression was stern, yet his eyes held at least some semblance of concern. It wasn’t unlike his other peers, in the past; teachers, trainers, generals he worked under, the few castle officials that _weren’t_ conniving scum. They’d treated him as they would any other student or colleague, and yet sometimes they’d show an amount of worry about him that Xander wasn’t used to. He never bothered figuring out why that was, or where it came from, but some part of him probably appreciated it.

For a moment, the urge was there. Fess up about what had really happened – maybe Gunter would lend a hand, offer a suggestion of what he should do, _anything._ The man was an ideal Nohrian knight, after all. He was here, and they were alone, far from his father’s gaze. He could help find some way out of this horrid situation so Xander could get on with his life without doubt hanging over his head like a cloud. The weight lifted off his shoulders would be immense.

But…

 “I’ll pull… through,” he finally said, feeling lightheaded. “It’s for the good of Nohr, after all. And with the way things have been going, I should be out of here come spring.”

Gunter said nothing for a few seconds, furrowing his brow. Then he nodded and turned, placing an arm atop the horse’s saddle. “Very well. I hope to see you back on the battlefield soon, lad. I’ll give the others your regards.”

Xander nodded. A “safe travels” was all he was able to muster, before the knight rode out the gate and was swallowed up by the dismal landscape.

Just as the dust settled back down on the ground as the hooves of Gunter’s horse thundered across it, so did fear in the bottom of Xander’s stomach. He was running out of options _and_ time.

 

-*-

 

Corrin watched the knight coated in black ride past the threshold and beyond the fortress until she lost track of his silhouette amidst cliffs and dead trees. She pulled the blanket slung around her shoulders tighter, and eventually padded over to the fireplace to sit down.

Her fingertips were still wrinkled from the bath she’d taken a few hours earlier. She’d been a trembling mess when Lilith had guided her inside, bile stuck to the back of her throat, heart thrumming in her chest; Felicia had prepared the hot water without saying anything and left the two alone. Eventually, Corrin had calmed down, but even after Lilith left for the night she’d stayed in the water until it cooled, breathing and coaxing herself into something resembling stability. Sleep came easy after that.

Folding her legs up to her chest, Corrin rested her chin atop her knees and stared into the flames. The fabric of the button-up shirt and leggings she wore were soft against her skin, and for a moment she just sat there and appreciated the feeling. It was so different, compared to the coldness of her other form, the heaviness – even thinking about it made her nauseous. And even if the dragonstone had kept her grounded as everyone had said it would, Corrin was still so accustomed to the violent urges that came with it. Yet her disgust didn’t come from taking on the form, per say; it was more in how natural everything came to her, how ready her muscles seemed to be to pounce on the prince and tear his chest open, how even if her mind was balanced now her body was practically crying out to _attack, attack_. Violent urges had been carved into her against her will.

Now, curled up by the fire, Corrin felt small and insignificant. It was nice.

 _I probably don’t have much time left, like this,_ she thought, eyelids fluttering shut. Even if the prince had chosen to deceive his father this time, she figure it wouldn’t be long before he made that fateful choice and she was shoved back into a cage.

As she dozed, she tried to remember her family. Sumeragi’s chuckles were rare and often tense, but on the occasion that she or one of her siblings did something silly enough to truly move his heart, his laugh was heard by everyone in the room. Mikoto’s, on the other hand, came often and while genuine, there was always some hesitation behind them. She was always worrying. Ryoma, much like his father, didn’t laugh much, unless he was poking fun at Hinoka or messing with little Takumi; it wasn’t so much because he was a downer, he was just mature for his age, being the high prince. Hinoka’s laugh often came with snorts. It was contagious, too, and Corrin could remember many occasions where she and her sister were scolded because their giggling at the dinner-table had quickly devolved into rolling on the floor in hysterics. It was always over something silly, like their father’s hair being out-of-place, or Takumi dropping his fork and immediately crying, or one time where the boy had kept swiping food from his older brother’s bowl…

Corrin opened her eyes partway. The tears that’d formed over them threatened to fall, filled with flicks of orange as they reflected the light of the fireplace before her.

 _I’m going to forget about them again, soon,_ she thought, and it was the scariest part of the whole situation, even if it’d been so long anyway that the Hoshidan royals were just as tangible to her as characters in a novel.

Footsteps thudded around outside the door, rousing Corrin. She turned as it opened, not bothering to stand up. The prince appeared in the entryway, back to his usual self – no helmet, armor or sword. Her fingers tightened around her ankles, but her hostility wasn’t strong enough to act further.

After all, regardless of how horrible it’d been, how horrible she’d _felt_ , his plan had made sense and, as far as she knew, it had worked.

He stood there for a moment too long, enough to summon a cautious “What?” out of Corrin.

As if he were walking into the den of a hungry lion, Xander crept inside and took a seat at the little table by the window. Corrin’s gaze followed him the entire way.

Another minute passed. A frown pressed onto her lips as she looked him over – it was like he’d just gotten beaten up, or something. He was all slumped over in the chair, both arms supporting him on the table. If he’d been trying to uphold some semblance of pride around her before, it was all gone now. She struggled to see a high prince in the exhausted person sitting here now.

“I apologize for yesterday,” he finally said, not turning to face her.

Corrin’s back straightened. An apology? Now that she thought about it, despite everything she’d gone through and the apparent pity he’d shown her, this was the first time he was actually resorting to that.

Hands clenching around her knees now, she responded, “It’s… It’s not your fault. That man… that knight would have said something to King Garon if we hadn’t done what we did, wouldn’t he? So…”

Xander looked over at her, lips parted like he had something more to say on the subject, but then he turned away again, sitting up. “…That’s right. It went well. Much better than I anticipated.”

Jumping to conclusions, Corrin responded, “I-I’m not going to just sit back and let you _use_ me in your war, if that’s what you’re getting at. …Dragonstone, or not,” she added, holding the object close to her chest.

Looking her dead in the eyes, the prince said, “That’s not what I plan on doing.” His brow furrowed, expression returning to its usual tight, angry one – as opposed to the look of defeat he’d had when he’d walked in. “I’ve made up my mind on that. Nohr may be a nation of conquest, but as crown prince I can’t stand by and let this sort of deed stain its history.” A pause; then, “Hoshido’s, as well.”

After _everything_ that’d happened to her, both before and after getting to the fortress, Corrin couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Skepticism and hope fluttered in her chest, and she moved to stand up. “T-then… what exactly are you planning to…?”

“Yesterday,” he started, confidence slowly returning, “in the arena… it gave me an idea. We were able to convince Gunter well enough with our act. My father’s intentions are merely to use you in battle as Nohr finally makes a move against Hoshido. As long as you are able to use that dragonstone, hypothetically… you should be able to fulfill his wishes, without him realizing you’re still very much yourself.”

Corrin took a minute, and then another, to process what the prince was saying. Like they had done with the visiting knight, she could comply with Garon’s plans to avoid getting Azura (and herself, perhaps, by extension) killed, without losing her mind in the process. And the prince would have no issue doing this? Even though he would be lying to his father and disobeying orders?

It wasn’t convincing.

And besides… “You’d have me just go along with it?” Her hands started to tremble at the thought. “To… to _invade_ Hoshido?” She gritted her teeth. “To fight my _own_ family, someday…”

Xander frowned; it _almost_ looked like he was trying to express sorrow, but she couldn’t quite see it. “No. Dragonstone or not, enslaving a princess and forcing her against her own blood is unacceptable.” He sat back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Once the army would reach Hoshido, the situation will be drastically different. It’s enemy territory, for Nohr. For you… You’re a royal, regardless of how many years you’ve been absent from the castle.” His voice quieted. “If you were to slip away once we cross the border, escape into a village overnight… I doubt you would have much trouble in finding people willing to help you, and getting an escort to Shirasagi.”

 _What…?_ Corrin was speechless. _Escape…_

“It would be easy to tell my father his dragon had wandered off, or been stolen by the Hoshidans in the night, or something of the sort. Since we’ll be making an offensive push once we reach Hoshido, we won’t be able to spend very many resources on searching for you. And even then, we’d be searching for a dragon, not a girl, as long as your identity remains a secret.”

He addressed Corrin again, standing. Somewhere in the midst of his explanation, all the exhaustion in his appearance had vanished, save for the bags under his eyes. “Are you following me? Here in Nohr, between my father’s and Iago’s web of connections, it would be easy to track you down should they hear you went missing. I’d imagine they could find you in a number of days, give or take depending on where exactly you’re hiding. It would be easy for them to either beat an answer out of me as to how, exactly, you became healthy again, or even easier to point their suspicion at Azura and come to a conclusion about the whole thing through her.

“In Hoshido, however, the crown is completely blind, with very little time to spend investigating such issues. Escaping and returning to your family would be simple. And unless they were to confront us in Nohr beforehand, you wouldn’t have to harm any of your siblings.”

Corrin felt like her brain had frozen over. She stood there, jaw slack, brow knit together.

After a while, Xander stood and spoke again. “Do you understand? This is all I’m capable of doing in my position, without putting my head on the chopping block.”

She barely heard the sentence, and frankly his voice was starting to give her a headache as she ran every last word through her mind over and over again.

“…Go… to Hoshido,” she repeated, squeezing the bunches of blanket she held in each of her hands. “The border…?”

“I won’t take your dragonstone away from you. If the conditions are right, you’d be free to… to return, to your human form, if need be.” The concept was clearly still foreign to him. “As long as it remains a secret. The army – soldiers, generals, civilians on the road – no one could find out.” His fists clenched at his sides. “…That in itself could prove difficult, but I can cross that bridge when I get there. The most important things would be to work beside me in battle as you did today, and to be able to maintain that form for as long as is necessary – especially if Iago or my father are near. It would be a difficult act to maintain. One misstep could ruin everything.”

A pause, then, much quieter: “…And if my powers as prince mean anything, then… I can assure at the very least you won’t be treated like a damned _animal_.”

Overwhelmed, Corrin sat back down, absently running her thumb along the sharp edges of the stone.

Again, she heard the prince speak. “…You probably need time to consider this…”

Corrin didn’t reply, _couldn’t_ because her mind was a mess. Up until now, the only way out seemed to be Lilith’s solution – to fight and run, kill the prince when it was opportune and get as far away from Nohr as possible. In her naivety, she’d wanted to believe that was a practical plan. Lilith had sounded so confident, too… but…

She heard Xander’s footsteps move across the room again, and when he was at the door he spoke up. “When you come to a decision, have one of the maids take you to my quarters.” A pause, then: “Make sure you think about this carefully… I understand there is very little reason to trust me.”

Then the door clicked shut.

Not a minute later, it swung back open, and lighter footsteps scuffed across the floor before a hand grabbed hold of Corrin’s shoulder, drawing her out of her daze.

“Corrin…!”

Lilith’s eyes were huge, less in shock than in anger.

“Lilith,” she replied, shifting to sit cross-legged. “The prince…”

“I heard,” the maid interrupted, tone urgent. “I got nervous when I saw him headed this way, and followed… He seemed off, this morning, somehow.” Her eyebrows, thin and dark, twisted this way and that. “To think he’d propose something like that…”

Corrin took a good look at the maid as she zoned out. Distraught, maybe, was the right word to use. Brooding, flustered, and hostile all came next. It only made sense; Lilith had always shown an unusual amount of animosity towards Prince Xander. It occurred then to her that despite all of Lilith’s distrust and distaste for him, _she_ wanted to seriously consider his offer.

But the maid wasn’t having it. She assessed Corrin closely before her eyes narrowed into slits. “But… Corrin, you didn’t say anything to him… You’re not really thinking of trusting him…?”

She only bit her lip and stared at her feet.

“Corrin… Please, think about this. He’s the prince of Nohr. He’s just as conniving and self-centered as King Garon is. It’s _more_ than that – he doesn’t _know_ any better. He’s not _capable_ of disobeying his father.” Lilith’s voice was soaked with more contempt than Corrin thought the girl was possible of.

Still… “How can you be so sure?” She looked up again, and Lilith flinched, leaning away.

“I-In any case, even if he _is_ being genuine now, there’s no way… There’s _no_ way something like that would work. Having you play along until Nohr reaches Hoshido? That sounds like a convenient excuse for getting you to behave.” Lilith grew more and more frantic as she spoke, sentences speeding up like she was trying to talk Corrin away from a ledge. “He’d have you fight in war. Likely, you’d have to return to Castle Krakenburg at some point, too. Face King Garon and Iago again.” The princess flinched at this, curling into herself. “Can you do that? Wouldn’t it be easier to work this out _our_ way?”

What she was saying made sense. The princess stared into her lap, where the dragonstone lay. Why should she have to cooperate with a nation that destroyed her life? That murdered her father? That made Azura miserable? That allowed people like King Garon and Iago to get away with all the heinous things they’d done? Why should she _help_ them, go along with them, _fight_ beside them…

Yet just the thought of being free from the fortress, seeing the world again with her mind intact was tantalizing to Corrin, even if she’d still be chained to the Nohrians. A low-hanging fruit, the branch weighed down by the hand of the prince. Meanwhile, Lilith’s alternative seemed unrealistic and unreachable, yet had the most immediate outcome; complete liberation, going to Hoshido on her own volition, cooperating with nobody but the astral dragon that’d been at her side since her lowest point and who had shown her nothing but care and loyalty.

Lilith shook her shoulder again, this time with more urgency. “Corrin? You need to trust me…”

“I do trust you,” she snapped, getting up. “I trust you more than _anyone_ , Lilith. But, just…”

The maid stayed quiet as Corrin made her way back over to the window. The sky had grown clogged with thick layers of clouds, and flurries of snow had begun to trickle out here and there.

“Whatever I do, it’s going to affect everything. My life, your life, Azura’s life… they’re all at risk,” she continued, her voice small and weak now that the pang of anger she’d felt had faded. “I… I need to think about this rationally.”

“Corrin…” Lilith stood, but didn’t continue.  She could tell the girl needed space. As much as she wanted to press the issue, she backed off, eventually leaving the room without another.

Alone, Corrin stood with her fists clenched at her side before the tall window, a lanky, pale thing, not at all resembling what one would picture a Hoshidan princess to look like. She closed her eyes and let the events following her imprisonment in Nohr play through her mind again, jumbled as they were. Even after Azura had done so much to give her her sanity again, what had she done? She’d cowered, she’d been complacent; instead of taking charge of her life now that she had the ability to, she’d just wallowed in despair as she awaited the moment she’d be shoved back into her cage.

Corrin looked herself over. Regardless of what’d happened to her, of where she was now and how far away she was from home, she was still a royal of Hoshido and a legitimate princess – her blood was proof enough of that and nothing would ever change it. If she was ever going to rebuild her life, she’d have to take the first step somewhere.

 

-*-

 

A cup of wine sat untouched within arm’s reach of Xander, pressing a round indent into the papers beneath it. The drink’s color was of a similar shade to the prince’s eyes, which were currently staring in that direction, unfocused. His right hand drummed against the wood, sending the slightest ripples across the surface of the drink. It itched for the feeling of Siegfried’s grip, but he held back, stressed as he was. With luck, Corrin would give him an answer soon.

Part of him wanted to walk back up and demand a response now, but he was rational enough not to. She needed time to think on it, even if that led to her refusing to work with him. (In which case, well, he was _really_ in trouble) Felicia and Flora had dropped him off a platter of food not too long ago, which meant Corrin was likely still in the middle of her dinner, anyways.

Sighing, Xander pulled himself out of his daze and leaned back in his chair. After glaring down the cup of wine for another minute, he picked it up and took a sip. Given his title, along with his borderline absurd dedication to being a responsible young man, the prince wasn’t big on drinking unless the occasion demanded it, but even he could tell this was good wine. For some reason, the fortress that was once a military outpost had held a wine cellar which the guards often indulged in during the colder months.

He grimaced into the cup of ruby liquid, and then over at the bottle, sitting inconspicuously on one of the higher shelves. Had he really fallen so far that he was drinking to cope?

Then again, vocalizing everything that’d been on his mind to Corrin earlier had taken a lot out of him. It’d been easy at the time - such things came naturally to him as someone who was practically groomed to give and execute commands. Now, it felt like in just uttering the words he’d committed the worst treason imaginable and deserved to be on death row.

A knock on the door interrupted Xander’s morbid thoughts, and he stood, the chair scraping against the ground.

Flora’s pale, oval-shaped face stood out in the dark of the stairwell, along with Corrin’s, just behind her.

For a moment the three were silent. Then the maid excused herself with a bow, muttering that she wouldn’t be far for when the princess needed to be brought back upstairs.

The door seemed loud as Corrin shut it behind her, eyes widening as they took in every detail of the room. Xander took a step back, giving her space, then became aware of the cup of wine still in his hand and moved to the desk to set it back down.

“Have you considered my offer?” he tried, lingering by the chair instead of facing Corrin.

“…Yes,” she replied, and though the usual nervousness in her voice was there, it was accompanied with a vague confidence, something that could easily be mistaken with naivety.

She’d considered, it, sure. But it wasn’t like she had much of a choice in the long run. He’d given her the illusion of free will – briefly, he wondered if she realized that herself. He figured that a girl who had literally been locked up since she was seven years old wouldn’t be the best at decision-making, but at the very least she had to hate Nohr and him by extension, which would mean she’d put _some_ thought into deciding whether or not she should trust him, and to what extent. But it was cruel and unfair, either way.

Xander, at least, was prepared to defend himself and persuade her to go along with his asinine plan. While she probably had a deep-running distrust of anything bearing the Nohrian crest and would never truly respect him as long as his crown was on his head, he figured it wouldn’t be difficult to talk his way around things, even manipulate the girl of stunted growth into cooperating. It’d be cruel of him, certainly, but it was for her good in the long run – after all, there were very few other paths out of this for her that were as safe and certain as this.

All of that preparation and critical thinking went down the drain when Corrin went on to say, “I’ll trust you. At… at least for now.”

He swung around, feeling like he’d just been slapped in the face. “What?”

Corrin was equally bewildered at his reaction. “I-I said I’ll trust you, for now…”

Slowly, Xander’s eyes narrowed into slits as he tried to read the girl. That she was _this_ naïve, he could believe, but… what of her animosity?  Righteous fury, at having her life ruined by his father’s hand? Fear, of being forced into a war against her own home and working with those who had torn her away from it? Nothing of the like was present on her pale features. Just nervousness, and tentative trust.

It shocked him. It may have even scared him, a little.

“You’d trust me that easily?” he pried.

Corrin furrowed her brow and folded her hands in front of her chest, almost defensively. “…What do you mean by that?”

He shouldn’t question her, as long as she would go along that was enough, but Xander, being who he was, wouldn’t let it go. “Disregarding the circumstances… I’m still a royal of the kingdom that imprisoned you. Not just that – the one set to inherit it.” He paused, restraint kicking in for a moment, then went on, “my father is responsible for robbing you of your well-being. I am his _son_.” Somehow, anger crept into his tone. Accusingly, he asked, “Yet you would trust me, just like that?”

Corrin flinched. For a second she almost looked like she was second-guessing herself, but then her own anger flared, and she bit back, “I know that…! It’s… it’s not like I have much of a choice!”

“It’s more than that,” he refuted, voice low. “You don’t seem distrustful at all. You can’t be certain I’m not purposefully doing this to fulfill my father’s wishes, and get you to cooperate. Haven’t you thought about this more critically?”

Xander gritted his teeth, wishing he’d cut off the flow of words sooner.

With a grimace, Corrin stood her ground. Though the light was dim, there were lines on her face that shouldn’t be there, even if she was angry. Gray puffs sat underneath her eyes, reddened slightly from crying. “That’s not - … I…” She swallowed. “I-I’m never going to reclaim my life if I keep dragging my feet and living in fear.” One of her hands pressed against her chest, and his eyes flicked to the other, noticing the near-translucent dragonstone between her fingers. He was momentarily amazed that one tiny object was all it took for Corrin to even exist as herself, in place of a mad beast. “…Part of me doesn’t even _care_ as long as I’m not put in that _cage_ again, as long as I’m able to see the sky with my _own_ eyes and not constantly want to tear apart everything in sight-“

Voice cracking, Corrin finally let up, moving so her back was to him as a couple shameful sobs filled the air.

Xander, too, turned away, his hand clenching around the backrest of the chair beside him. His chest flooded with guilt, partly for getting her so upset and partly for all the other things she’d experienced that, realistically, he shouldn’t feel guilty for because he’d had no direct part in them, but he still felt for anyways since it was _his_ father who’d done and was still doing them, and the crown prince was nothing but an extension of the king, both in blood and in title.

“You can leave, now,” he said after a long minute, all strength drained from his voice. “That’s enough of an answer for me. I’ll update you on the situation when the time comes.”

A sniffle was all he got in reply, followed by footsteps and the creaking of the door as it opened and shut. The silence left in its wake was overwhelming. Xander made quick work of the rest of his wine before exhaustion caught up with him again.

 

-*-

 

“Felicia?”

The maid had started for the door, pots and empty dishes in hand, but stopped and glanced over her shoulder as Corrin spoke up.

“U-um…” The princess grew flustered, because in however many days – weeks, maybe – she’d been here she hadn’t once asked a proper request of the maids. Feeling her face heat up, she reached for the near-empty tea cup on the table in front of her and held it up. “The tea… Could you bring more? It… it was good, this morning.”

Felicia’s face lifted, and she smiled warmly. “Definitely, Miss Corrin. I’ll be right back!”

“Thank you,” she breathed, and then she returned the smile with one of her own.

The maid disappeared into the hallway and almost immediately, the familiar sound of a crash reached Corrin’s ears.

“ _Eeek! F-Flora!”_

_“Felicia! The dishes, oh no…”_

_“Flora-! Can you believe it!? Just now, she said the tea I made was good-!”_

_“Felicia…. That’s great, Felicia, but the_ dishes-“

_“My tea was actually good!! It really was!! When are we writing Jakob next!? I need to tell him!”_

_“Felicia…”_

Corrin’s smile persisted as the two went back and forth, and she held the porcelain cup between both her palms. Pathetic as it might’ve been, she found some solace in the development made the night before. For better or worse, she’d come to a decision. One that just so happened to promise an escape from the fortress. Just having _something_ set in stone, some kind of future that didn’t involve either dying, getting hunted down and _then_ dying, or being sent back into a state of insanity was comforting, even with everything the prince’s plan entailed. But she was trying not to think of that. Frankly, the entirety of it was still overwhelming, considering all she’d really done in nearly the past decade of her life was rot away in a cell and snap at people like a mad dog.

It was a step forward.

Lilith wasn’t going to be happy. Corrin tried not to think about that, either.

 

-*-

 

It took all of twenty-four for Xander’s composure and confidence, that he’d worked so hard to sustain, to come crashing down.

Like he dealt with all of his hardships and moral dilemmas, the prince was back on his usual spot atop the fortress’s central tower, too scatter-brained to have thrown on a hat, jacket, or even a cloak. It’d been cold at first, but after thirty or so minutes he was so numb that he could hardly feel anything anyways besides a faint burning sensation on the top of his skin. Foolishly, he thought with enough exercise his blood would get running enough to counter the pressure winter was putting on his body, but in the back of his mind Xander probably knew he was only damaging his already unstable condition.

 _I can’t go through with this,_ he thought as he swung Siegfried around his left side, the blade making a low _whip_ as it cut through the air. _There’s no way I can go through with this._

He just couldn’t do it.

_He couldn’t do it._

Going through with this plan – rash and absurd as it was – meant outright treason. It meant going behind his father’s back, on an unimaginably large scale. It meant meddling in wartime affairs, it meant, potentially, sabotaging the entire offensive, influencing the outcome of the war…

Plain and simple, it was betraying Nohr. Possibly _condemning_ it, should his antics somehow lead to their invasion getting crushed. There was no sugar-coating, no working around that fact.

He was crown prince, and, proven clearly by the words he’d uttered to Corrin some twenty-four hours prior, he was _willing_ to forsake his country.

His hands quaked around Siegfried’s hilt as he brought the greatsword over his head again. With a breath visible against the black of the landscape around him, he lowered it in a diagonal arc, leaving a faint trace of red in its path.

What had he been _thinking?_ _How_ could he even come up with such a plan, nevermind actually consider executing it? He was the prince. The prince. _The prince._ What was wrong with him? _Why?_ Why did he believe for a moment he could turn against his father? Why was he acting on his pity? Why didn’t he send that letter all those days ago? Why couldn’t he just do what he was told in the first place? Why couldn’t he be the person he was supposed to be? Why did he question his father, why were there so many moments where he’d had to repress doubt and uncertainty about his father’s decisions, what had gone wrong that he’d turned out like this, and how could he _possibly_ be salvaged after falling this far?

He was unfit to succeed his father as king. That much was clear. Anyone who struggled as much with doubt, who couldn’t keep his emotions in check enough to carry out a simple command, had no place ruling a country as unstable as Nohr.

But the other option had rapidly become less and less viable. As much as he tried to quash any sentimentality in his heart, he _couldn’t_ simply leave Corrin to be fed to the dogs, and he couldn’t condemn _Azura,_ his own sister _._ The Hoshidan girl had been right. Xander had left Azura to fend for herself in an environment just as hostile as Nohr’s wilderness. Just as he had with his other siblings, the ones that hadn’t made it. He’d done nothing to stop the warring concubines, being the cowardly little scrap of a boy he’d been. As a result of that, he’d sat watching wide-eyed from the sidelines as that slaughter dragged on and on, watched his half-siblings come and go without speaking up to his father or anyone else about how _vile_ the whole situation was _once,_ and never even daring to act independently to help any of them _._

 He’d attended some of their funerals. Not all of them. Sometimes his schedule would just be too crammed to fit in a visit to the palace burial grounds – there was never any time allotted for such matters. (They were only half-siblings, after all.) Sometimes he’d be gone, halfway across the country, and would only learn of another death through letters delivered from one of his retainers. He’d have a few minutes alone in his tent to mourn, then he’d toss the piece of parchment in the fire, march back outside, and pretend like nothing had happened.

The few funerals he _had_ attended hadn’t given him much of a relief when it came to his pent-up guilt; among the few that were usually present (friends of the concubine; the mother herself maybe, if she wasn’t already dead; other siblings who might’ve had a closer bond with them, and, _always_ , Camilla) he was always the most quiet. Those mourning recognized him and avoided him. Above all else, the lack of his father’s presence beside the coffin of a dead child born of his own seed was felt each and every time, and often it was all Xander could think about as he stared down at their lifeless form, deepening the pit in his chest. Often he’d fill that pit with excuses; that his father was just so full of love and affection to give that he couldn’t help himself, that being king there was no way he could care for each and every one of his offspring, that he’d worked hard for his title and if anyone in the country could be excused for leaving their children to the wolves it was him, that it was the _concubine’s_ fault, that women just threw themselves at his father _knowing_ they’d get sucked into a violent struggle for power. None of the excuses brought him any solace, but they at least helped him get through each ceremony. He’d show up feeling empty and leave feeling empty; the next day he’d bury himself in work and responsibilities again to force his legs to keep stepping forward.

Azura was some kind of miracle. Each time one of his half-siblings died, he expected the girl would be next. Compared to the concubine children, who were only caught up in the hatred of other mothers, _she_ was universally despised by _everyone_ in Krakenburg. Because Katerina had been adored. Katerina was adored and Arete was scorned; that malice had driven her to her death, leaving her pathetic little daughter alone in the castle whose halls were already stained with royal blood. She stood in stark contrast to Xander; Xander, the firstborn, the one child of the king _and_ queen, respected by all despite his rough start to life, his future handed to him on a silver platter. While he was raised with amenities most Nohrians couldn’t even dream of, Azura wandered the halls like a ghost, was beaten and isolated, even exploited by Iago.

Xander had done nothing. He’d known what she was going through, and he’d done nothing. Maybe there were a few occasions when he was still a stupid boy where he’d try and speak up when he heard the nobles speaking lowly of Azura, but he quickly learned that if he wanted to be a ruler that earned the favor of his subjects, he couldn’t express such sentiments, or even hold them.

Always, the thought sat in the back of his mind: if the son of the beloved Queen Katerina had stood up for the daughter of Arete, would things have been different? Not that it mattered because he _hadn’t_ , he’d stayed silent and watched from his father’s shadow, never dared to challenge his decisions. Thinking about what could have been different if Xander _had_ chosen to question Garon’s orders in certain situations was a dangerous path to go down. He didn’t want to think about how much blood could truly be on his hands.

Even putting his own guilt regarding Azura aside, though, there was something sickening about even the _thought_ of forcing Corrin back into that state and forcing her to fight her own family that that made him feel ill. Another defect of his.

He knew very well that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did that to the Hoshidan girl. As much as it hurt to admit that weakness of his, it was true. It would be so much easier if he was still in the dark on everything. But Azura had torn back the curtains and exposed him to the truth, knowing how disturbed he’d be. He’d laugh at the cruelty of it were he not in the position he was in now.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t do it.

It went deeper than that, he supposed as relaxed his arms at his sides, pin-needles running from the tips of his fingers up to his elbows. He didn’t want to be prince of a country that prospered off of such vile acts. He couldn’t be the son his father wanted, the father that would – had _already_ taken Nohr down a path not just of conquest but more of a complete lack of humanity. He’d die soon enough, maybe without ever coming back to his senses as Xander wished he would, and he’d leave the country, soured by war crimes and crippled by rebellions the prince knew deep down were not all that unjustified, in his incapable hands.  He would have no choice but to become the same king Garon was. He couldn’t live with that – he didn’t want that kind of future, he’d known it before but now with the latest incident he was forced to confront that fact.

He was too faint of heart to carry out his father’s commands, and too much of a coward to go against them.

It was an inescapable situation. Over the past few weeks – months, even, _before_ Corrin’s identity was revealed, maybe ever since he was assigned to the fortress – it had felt like the walls around him were closing in, slowly but surely. Now they pressed at him from all sides, and he had no way out, nor the strength to hold them back.

No – no, Xander corrected himself, there _was_ a way out of this.

The sound of steel, clanging against the tiles, was distant as he wandered closer to the roof’s rim. His arm felt lighter without a sword weighing it down; somewhere behind him, Siegfried slid across the roofing, forgotten. His boots scuffed against the ground until he could feel the stone drop off beneath his toes, and he stopped there, blinking out of his trance and gazing down, nearly losing his balance right then.

It was a disgraceful way to go, he thought. Disgraceful to his father, to the country, to his family and his retainers. Nohrian royals were meant to die in more glorified ways than this. He measured up the ground far below him; a thin layer of snow and ice lay atop dead grass, the brown tips poking out here and there. Closer to the walls was Felicia’s garden – she tried so hard to maintain it in the mere six months the fortress didn’t see snow, each year, ecstatic about plants that did not grow in her homeland. Purple buttercups, pale peonies and poppies would speckle the soil sometimes, in stark contrast with the layers of grays around them. Xander never imagined himself dying in a poorly-maintained bed of wilted flowers, but in retrospect he’d never thought much about his death at all. At the worst, it’d be on the battlefield, defending his country and sacrificing himself for a better cause; at best he’d live to be old and die knowing his siblings and their legacies were safe.

He inched closer to the edge. A gentle breeze rose from below, brushing past his loose button-up shirt and blowing his bangs off his face. There no longer a composed persona behind which he could hide from his wrongdoings. He’d forsaken his title as _prince_ the moment he’d allowed Corrin to live. Without it, there wasn’t anything left.

It’d be okay, though. Nohr would do better without him holding it back. Though Camilla was next in line for the throne, Leo would likely step up to the challenge; he had twice the ambition Xander did, and four times the willpower. While Xander put on a strong front to mask his constant self-doubt and his tendency to overthink, Leo was the opposite; he was levelheaded, yet when push came to shove he had a brilliant mind and was unshakable when executing commands. He’d make an excellent crown prince.

A long sigh left Xander. Below, the ground beckoned to him, breathing another chill up the side of the tower’s walls. _Come,_ it seemed to be whispering. _This is the way out. Come._

 

-*-

 

Corrin had waited until the maids finished their usual rounds in her room and the fire sizzled out. She watched the crumbling logs, eyes trained on the glistening embers within until every last one faded to gray. Then she’d risen, gone around the room and pulled every curtain shut, blown out the candles on the nightstand and snuffed the lanterns in the washroom. And at last, the space was completely dark, so much that she could not even see her own hands held out in front of her.

The princess wobbled onto the rug and took a seat. Her legs folded and she laid the dragonstone out in front of her.

Already, her heightened senses seemed to be kicking in.  Her surroundings, the only evidence she was no longer stuck in the spire with Iago looming over her, were gone. She was put on edge. Years of living in the dark were probably why her heart had started beating so fast, she thought. Maybe her brain was expecting his steps in the hallway and his smug voice in her ear, readying for when she was again driven past that point of distress after which she’d shift.

 _You’re safe,_ she told herself, exhaling, trying to force herself to relax. _Now…_

Responding to Corrin, the dragonstone began to glow at her feet. She opened her eyes, finding she could ‘see’ much more of the room now than she could a minute ago. Edges and shapes became apparent even with the absence of light. Scents, too – the oils she always poured into her bath irritated her nose, along with the wisps of smoke rising up from the snuffed candles and even a bit of bread from supper. Corrin took another breath, and her ears picked up on a faint dripping – water in a pipe, perhaps.

She had to push herself further. Make herself comfortable with that form. If she was going to be taking it on regularly on the journey to Hoshido, she had to get over her current fear and disgust with it. Corrin held out a hand before her, and as she had when she’d cut her hair, and focused there first. Soft, blue light shone brighter from the stone as the digits twisted and blackened into a claw.

Taking in a breath, Corrin relented a bit more, the dragonstone’s light picking up in response. Her head grew heavier, something setting it off-balance; more sickening was the twisting of her bones beneath her shoulder. _It hurts. It_ hurts _…!_

Nearly half the room was now illuminated with blue light, and Corrin held off there, taking heavy breaths of air. That was far enough – her heart was beating too fast now, and fear made the fingers of her other hand tremble. Sitting back down, she picked up the stone in the good hand and held it close to her chest. She tried to relax, resting her back against the foot of the bed, waiting for her pounding heart to calm.

Somewhere in the midst of this came a clatter, not loud enough to jolt Corrin but it still broke the silence. Her eyelids fluttered open. The sound of something metal hitting the ground. It was too big a noise to be something like a utensil, and it was coming from outside, too, not the hallway. Distracted, she rose and clambered over to a window, ducking around the curtain.

The glass might as well have been a solid block of ice, omitting a chill that instantly had Corrin shivering and hugging her arms together.  That was how winter was, she remembered. It snowed and the world became cold and dead. Her gaze wandered to its usual spot – _his_ usual spot, the other tower atop which the prince would always train. He was there, of course, he always was – him standing out there under the night sky was as much a constant presence to her as Iago’s return to her prison had been.

It was strange of him to be out this late, especially considering the weather. If anything were to ever dissuade him from waving his sword around until the sun threatened to rise, certainly the threat of freezing to death would. But nevertheless, there the foolish prince was. Maybe if he worked hard enough, if his blood was hot enough, he could keep warm… but no, he wasn’t even doing _that._ The clattering had been his sword dropping to the ground; it now lay caught between two upturned tiles, and Corrin could only imagine how cold the blade and hilt were. The prince wasn’t even wearing gloves. A simple nightshirt and black trousers tucked into half-tied boots were what he sported as he faced off with winter’s wrath.

She watched as he moved sluggishly towards the edge of the rooftop. His steps were uneven, and more than once she chomped down on her lip because he’d stumble. Why doesn’t he go inside, she thought, bushy brows knitted. _What is he doing?_

The prince got closer to the edge. And closer still – if he wished to gaze longingly out at the mountains he didn’t need to go _that_ far, it was almost like he was purposefully drawing closer to the dropoff. Her heart began to race; the prince stood tall, it was like he was balancing his heels on the edge, a single gust of wind the wrong way was all it would take for him to _fall_ , what was he _thinking…_

But he didn’t move from the spot. His head tilted down and he took a good look at the empty air sitting between him and the ground. Corrin gripped the dragonstone so hard it could have cracked.

_He… couldn’t be…_

…

It would be so easy for her to stand there and watch. After all, she and Lilith needed him dead. This would save them the work  - _no_ , Corrin bit her tongue and pushed the thought from her mind. She couldn’t let him throw his life away like this, she couldn’t _watch_ , she wasn’t that sort of person regardless of his wrongdoings.

Panic guiding her movements, Corrin climbed up on the window sill, biting her lip as the stones chilled the soles of her feet. She struggled with the lever until the glass cranked open as far as it could go. Wind whipped inside, upsetting the curtain; she ignored it, placing both her hands on the bars that ran up and down the opening, tapping into the dragonstone’s enchantment again, gritting her teeth as her arms shifted… and then, with ease, the princess tugged the metal apart, creating a gap large enough for her to slip through.

Things blurred after that. Throwing caution into the wind, she jumped, eyes bulging at the gap that sat between the two towers and how far away the ground was. Yet somehow her fall was cushioned and slowed – the tugging on her back might’ve been the reason for this, a fight-or-flight response causing wings to emerge. Corrin made a graceless landing near the other end of the tower’s circular roof, rolling against the rough plates. She took barely a moment to collect herself before she scrambled across to the other side, where the prince still stood with his back to her, unfazed.

Without thinking, she ran at him.

 

-*-

 

He’d heard the shuffling behind him, the choked breaths and someone’s feet stumbling across the rooftop, but only partially. He’d been too caught up in his thoughts to truly acknowledge whoever it was, at least until two arms clamped themselves around his midsection. Turning his head, he blinked, eyes refocusing to find a head of silver hair. Before he could even react she tugged backwards as if she were pulling him out of a flooding river; his body, numb as it was, didn’t react in time and he lost his footing.

A second later he reopened his eyes and found himself lying on his side – still on the rooftop, not the ground – with his right arm having cushioned his fall. Grunting, he righted himself, which proved difficult given how much the weather was messing with his limbs. His eyes wandered until they found Corrin again, who’d backed away, but had now put herself between him and the edge of the roof. Her face was all twisted up and he couldn’t read her expression.

He frowned at her, trying to make sense of what was going on. Where had she even come from? Thinking about it took too much effort, though, and soon he found himself being pushed and dragged across the rooftop to the latch leading back inside. He didn’t object.

Corrin shoved him into the tower first, then followed, closing the door behind them. On instinct he stepped the rest of the way down the stairs until he reached a section of flat ground that sat before the next set of stairs, leading down to the upper maid’s quarters. Two torches hung on either side, and his feet drew him closer to one of them until he was leaning against the wall beneath it, absorbing all the heat he could. The passage wasn’t exposed to the outside world, but it wasn’t exactly heated, either. At the very least, feeling was beginning to return to Xander’s limbs, along with sharp pain. His gaze, still distant, landed on Corrin again, who’d taken the spot beneath the other torch.

She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her eyes were wide and glossy, drilling into him, brow upturned, lips quivering around gritted teeth. The flickering light sent strange lines of orange and black across her features, which, he again thought didn’t look at all Hoshidan. Her posture was stiff and tense, like she was facing a wild wyvern that could leap at her at any moment. Choked sounds were escaping her throat, but no actual words. He didn’t know what to say, could barely even think straight. Everything was still too foggy and numb.

“W-what… what were you _thinking…?_ ” When she finally spoke, her voice was frantic and trembling. A coughing fit separated the first sentence from the next. “What were you thinking? What were you _thinking_?”

He only stared. Some feeling close to shame sank into his chest. To consider throwing his life away was pathetic enough, but having a royal – a royal of another nation, at that – have witnessed that moment of weakness was somehow worse. He didn’t say anything, still; his uncharacteristic silence only continued as he bowed his head and took Corrin’s anger.

“You could have _died…!”_ She was still gasping for air – possibly, she was in shock. “You could have _died!”_

Against his will, his body started to shiver as feeling returned to it. He glanced down at his hands; they were a dark pink, the skin on his palms cracked and sore. He got an urge to cup them around his mouth and breathe on them for warmth, but the muscles in his arms were all but useless. Corrin went on, blubbering about this or that as she dealt with her shock; he paid it little mind.

“Wh-what about your family?” she mumbled at one point, and _that_ got to him. “Not just Azura… Your other siblings…” When he looked up again, he found she was crying. It was likely less out of concern for him personally and probably more just the fact that she’d almost witnessed a death that was moving her. “You… you’d just leave them…?”

She went on, but Xander stopped listening again. Cruel as it was to admit, he’d forgotten about his siblings, if only for a moment. He wasn’t sure Camilla could take losing another sibling; especially Xander, distant as he made himself, because he’d been there from the beginning, throughout her hell of a childhood. There were times in the past he hadn’t put it past her to take her _own_ life. Leo, on the other hand… he’d certainly make a powerful ruler, but what of his well-being? Saying he’d be happy to have his older brother out of the picture was stupid. Xander knew him better than that, knew there were many facets to his personality. Even if Leo struggled with jealousy, he’d likely be just as torn apart as Camilla if he lost his brother. And Elise… Elise might not understand, he figured. Someday she would. The sorrow and guilt would sit with her for the rest of her life. Elise didn’t deserve another reason to frown.

How selfish he was, for thinking he could ruin his sibling’s lives like that. Just so he could escape his responsibilities and take the easy way out. Self-loathing twisted in his chest like a knife and he looked up at Corrin again – she was still going on about something, but everything was slurring together. Here she was, after years of abuse, her identity stripped from her, yet still standing tall. She was willing to ally with _him_ of all people if it meant reclaiming her life. Yet he’d been so quick to throw away his? It was pathetic and embarrassing.

Xander pulled himself away from the wall as he continued to shiver. His teeth clattered together, and he was barely able to still himself long enough to choke out an, “…Enough.”

Hoarse as his voice was, it stopped Corrin's blubbering mid-sentence.

“Go back to bed,” he told her in defeat.

Her feet stayed rooted in place as she sniffled. “You’re not – you’re not going back out there – “

“No,” he answered, and the word was full of shame. “No... I'm not.”

Corrin didn’t seem convinced, but she was clearly just as tired as he was. Relenting, she moved from beneath the lantern, then hesitated.

“What…?”

“I…” She folded her hands together, fingers clenching around her wrists. “I don’t… know the way back to that room.”

Xander blinked, then let out an exhausted sigh. “…Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i get xander's pushing OOC territory here, i'm trying to be extra mindful of that since I know it can really effect immersion in fics. As much shit as his character gets, (rightfully deserved lol) I did think all that pent-up guilt or self-loathing or whatever it is he's implied to have in the games was a really interesting detail & makes him stand out in FE's sometimes lackluster cast of characters. Like there's what's implied in Nyx's supports, and then his really fucked up ending in Birthright, etc. He's the kind of character you'd usually see portrayed as a horrible villain who 100% willingly does horrible things, that's attempted to be justified with the fact that they went through a lot of shit or have self-image issues that cause them to lash out at others (see: BERKUT), but all things considered Xander is treated pretty well and to an extent is written to be sympathetic instead of just being the "arrogant guy that does a bunch of bad things and then shows a little regret right as he's dying to try and get the player to feel for them"
> 
> Then in Camilla's supports he more or less says he shoulders a ton of burdens on his own for his family's sake, and distances himself from them for the same reason, which makes it that much nicer when he finally opens up to Corrin in their support convos. Even though their individual backgrounds and personalities are a bit different in this fic, I think that was what made me like their relationship in the first place, so fundamentally it's going to be the same in this. at the same time, they're both a lot more damaged in this AU and are starting off from a much rougher spot, so it'll take some time.


	27. Squirm in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after being enlisted into the Nohrian military, Azura still struggles to find happiness.

 

If there was one place in a country as bandit-riddled as Nohr that could be described as “desolate”, it was the Woods of the Forlorn. There were no outlaws, no migrants, no cottages, no military outposts… even animal life dwindled. Anything that could catch the attention of the faceless monstrosities that wandered the swamplands didn’t last long. Birds, insects, reptiles, amphibians, and an abundance of fauna were about all that was left.

That, and scientists; the term served as an umbrella for mages, alchemists, biologists, and the like. They took great interest in the place for a variety of reasons; the biodiversity compared to the rest of Nohr, its isolation, the fact that no superior could be looking over your shoulder and monitoring what kind of work you’re doing,.. which explained why every inch of the swamplands was crawling with Faceless.

Deep within the woods was where much of this work was done. Deep enough that anyone daring to take the path through here wouldn’t get anywhere near it on their way. Deep enough that any curious mage without the authority to access the site would either turn back or get pulverized by one of the wandering monsters before they made it far enough.

Thick trees curled out of the ground; where trunk should have met soil, there was too much slime or water or overgrown plant-life to make out the distinction. They overlapped with each other, grew much bigger and in much more bizarre shapes than normal ones did due to the abundance of water and nutrients. They robbed the undergrowth of sunlight, creating a state of eternal night for the habitats below. In the woods’ deepest sections the trees grew so compactly that a path of boardwalk couldn’t even be built through the winding roots and trunks. From this point, royal mages would have to walk or use a levitation spell the rest of the short distance to the site of study.

At their destination, the trees parted into an expansive circle, around fifty feet in diameter. It had taken much magic and strength to keep the more obstructive vegetation pushed back, and the line between forest and clearing was clear and distinct. Still, however, the higher branches weaved up around the clearing, giving the illusion of a sort of dome and keeping the spot cloaked in darkness.

The clearing itself had stone flooring built into it, with ridges beneath to allow the swamp’s water to flow through easily. Occasionally, larger reptiles would slip beneath the foundation and call it home for a while, but due to the work the mages did here and the radiation their magic gave off, it would never be long before any animal life was sent scurrying away back into the darkness.

A long line of mages filed into the clearing, some floating, others mucking through the mud and pulling off their boots as they stepped onto hard ground. Dark violet robes with gold and crimson accents all cloaked their bodies and shadowed their faces; all save for the man at the front, the king’s advisor Iago, in his usual glamour. Upon closer inspection, one might find that his robes shimmered slightly; an enchantment put on to protect the fine fabrics and silks from the swamp slime.

Neatly, routinely, all sixteen mages took a place around the circular foundation and pulled out a set of parchments. The forest continued to breathe with life around them, as if it sensed their intrusive presence and was intent on suffocating them in its gloom. But the mages paid no mind, and continued on with their task.

Trailing the group were two figures, struggling in the knee-deep mud as they tried to keep pace. The rattling of chain-links accompanied their movement; said chains clamped around their wrists and necks, and though most of their bodies were shrouded by the thick, gray cloaks they wore, it was clear the cuffs were far too excessive for people of their size.

When the two were about to reach the pavement, one of them finally stumbled, sending them both down into the muddy pools. The one in front fell into the edge of the circle, injuring his chin on the rough stone; the other, a woman trailing him, went face-first into the ground and emerged coughing and spitting up dirt and muck.

The mages were like statues as the two chained individuals struggled to pull themselves up to ground, not moving a muscle in acknowledgement to the slip-up. All but one; he was shorter than the rest, his hands a little more jittery around the spell parchments, smooth blonde bangs peeking out from beneath his hood. He twitched, but didn’t move from his place. For a heartbeat, his eyes flicked to the man at the head of the group, Iago, but were quick to move back to the ground.

The prisoners ambled into to the center of their circular formation, until Iago demanded them to stop. At this, they slumped to the ground, struggling to catch their breath.

Prince Leo hadn’t gotten a good look at the prisoners at all until now. Whether that was purposeful on Iago’s part or not, he wasn’t sure, but he could see why. Even through the heavy fabrics they were made to wear, they were clearly nothing but skin and bones. Their eyes were sunken and lifeless – it was clear they’d given up on hope ages ago.

He couldn’t help but stare. Eventually, one of the sets of eyes met his, the woman, and he broke contact immediately, ducking his head to shroud his face further. It didn’t matter, they were dead anyways, _so, so_ dead, but somehow it would still bring him shame if one of them died knowing Nohr’s prince himself was in part responsible for whatever horrors were about to be forced upon their bodies.

Iago didn’t wait around, and soon all sixteen of them were chanting in tune with each other. Their voices were low, barely above a whisper, as if someone might hear if they got too loud, as if the forest itself might realize what they were doing and unleash its wrath upon them. It was easy for Leo, at first. He wouldn’t call himself a _seasoned_ sorcerer, but he was experienced enough with magic and was accustomed to performing incantations in a group.

Even if whatever this magic was, was different. _Much_ different. It wasn’t in any language Leo had ever heard of, first and foremost. That alone had raised red flags. And not knowing the language made the spell itself even more indecipherable. How could he know what it does, how it works, its context without knowing any of the incantations it contained? It was like reading a speech in a language you didn’t know.

Of course, he’d never raised such concerns around Iago. No, around Iago it was nothing but interest and enthrallment that Leo showed. And that had gotten him here; it’d made him the little bird perched on Iago’s shoulder, able to peek over at whatever wretched things the man was writing and planning. Now Leo was at his end goal; the source of the Faceless, which were universally regarded in the community of mages as a magnificent breakthrough. His work had paid off. This was the deepest level he could reach and now, maybe, his curiosity would finally be satiated.

Leo was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed when the chanting suddenly became stronger, more rushed, the words pushed up from one’s core, and he struggled to follow along. They hadn’t even _practiced_ the incantation, and Leo himself was only allowed to hold his copy of the spell when he was at the royal mages’ camp on the border of the Woods of the Forlorn. Removal was strictly prohibited; all he was allowed was silent study as a senior sorcerer watched over him to make sure he didn’t try to cast anything.

As the urgency of the spell picked up, so did the reactions of their two subjects. The effects had been minimal at first; for the first few verses both of them were hardly phased, had just continued to sit there like lumps, oblivious to the situation they were in. Then they started moving – shifting uncomfortably, scratching at their skin. The incantation quickened; the two grew restless, got to their feet, stumbled around only to fall again from a lack of balance. The words became more rushed, summoning grunts of discomfort and pain from the prisoners. Syllables became more forceful; involuntary twitches began plaguing their limbs as grunts grew into shouts. One of them retched, vomiting up an unsafe amount of blood. Leo’s fingers trembled around his hastily-bound tome and he felt his eyebrows knit together. The incantation continued strong. He was having trouble keeping up, and his eyes wouldn’t stop going to the two prisoners flailing around on the ground as the crevices in the circle started to glow with energy. _Don’t look,_ he reminded himself, hearing Iago’s words again in his mind. _Don’t watch._

The volume of the spell grew so loud that Leo wanted to plant his palms around his ears or flee from the area entirely. The sounds the prisoners were making grew less and less human, and were accentuated with other sickening noises like the twisting of bones and the tearing of flesh.

In the midst of this, he felt a wave of heat from in front of him, though it was invisible to his eye. Iago had mentioned something like this; around halfway through the process, a protective wall had to be cast around the mages so they wouldn’t be harmed as the Faceless first emerged. Following this, the spell apparently changed pace, moving from one affecting the physical body to one that changed the mind, subjugating it to the will of the caster – though it was known to be unreliable. Leo was aware of the statistics on the number of Nohrian sorcerers whose lives were lost to their own creations.

When he finally mustered the strength to look up again, he saw not the two scrawny human prisoners that they’d dragged in with them, but two hulking masses of grayed flesh. The shredded remains of their robes rested at their feet, forgotten. Everything, forgotten. Humanity, forgotten. Leo took deep breaths, each one shaking.

One of the faceless, more agitated than the other, launched itself forwards, its limbs barreling messily across the ground. Towards Leo. He finally stumbled in the incantation, looking up in shock as the enormous figure loomed over him, staring wide-eyed into the black holes that covered its helmet, searching for a human face beneath… and then it roared in agony, tumbling onto its back as sparks ran up and down its body.

The protective lightning barrier... thank the gods. Leo’s eyes went to Iago, who was leering at the injured faceless.

After what felt like hours, the final line of the spell was uttered, and then silence ensued – silence quickly filled with the guttural growls of the two monstrosities sitting idle before them.

The prince said nothing, grateful for the gloves they were all assigned to wear that hid his trembling fingers. He pursed his lips in an attempt to quell his tossing stomach, and didn’t open them again that day.

 

-*-

 

“Job well done, Azura.”

All six feet and two-hundred-and-something pounds of Effie managed somehow to sneak up behind the Nohrian princess, giving her shoulder a heavy pat that sent her stumbling forwards and nearly knocked the long, bronze-tipped spear out of her grasp.

“I’m calling it a day. It’s probably about time you grabbed dinner, too,” she continued, moving around Azura’s left with a bright smile. “You tagging along?”

As she usually found herself doing, Azura hesitated, biting at her lip. Yes, she wanted to go, at least part of her did. But it always came down to weighing the risks against the benefits.

In the six months since she’d taken up the lance, the princess, somehow, had grown out of her shell. Or, perhaps that wasn’t the right phrase – she didn’t think she ever would _leave_ her shell, not with so many secrets weighing her down, but she’d certainly become more social, if only due to the insistence and stubbornness of her sibling’s retainers. Because, while the other royals themselves had plenty of other responsibilities and formalities barring them from spending much time with the princess, it didn’t mean their subjects couldn’t.

Of course, the royals and their retainers were busy people. Camilla, Selena, and Beruka, Azura hadn’t seen much of since she started – the eldest princess had always been in and out of the castle. Elise, however, tended to hang around Krakenburg more, which meant all the more time Azura could spend with Effie and Arthur. She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten lucky enough to be blessed with the companionship of two exceptionally kind people like them, but here she was – being offered, for the umpteenth time in the past month alone, to attend dinner with them.

Unfortunately, in those six months, things _outside_ of her small network of friends she’d made hadn’t exactly improved. She was busy sunrise to sundown, exhausting her scrap of a body on exercises it wasn’t fit for, seven days a week. It was a wonder Iago and Garon hadn’t assigned her to such a regimen _sooner_ , if they’d been so worried about what she’d do if left to her own devices. And while spending time with the others was nice, she barely had any time to herself anymore; most days she would slump back to her quarters, plow down a dinner, have a small chat with Jakob and then pass out. On some occasions, she’d get invited to one of the retainer’s quarters and absorb as much as she could from their company. But Azura couldn’t recall the last time she’d danced or sung.

On top of that, despite Effie’s encouragement, her training was… it had _progressed_ , but anything would have looked like progression starting from zero. Azura was barely on the level of the other _recruits_ who trained out in the main area, in ability and in physical shape. Anything resembling battle-readiness seemed leagues away, far out of her reach. In bouts of discouragement, all she could tell herself to keep her feet moving was that she had no other choice but to do it.

Even more unfortunate for Azura was the fact that aside from her circle, no one around the military wing of the castle had warmed up to her. Which was expected, but it didn’t make walking to and from the training grounds every day any less miserable. Under the leers of the Nohrian soldiers, she’d given up and switched out her normal dress for clothes more fitting for combat in the first few weeks following her assignment. But no matter the outfit, it seemed a porcelain doll was a porcelain doll; however loose her clothes were, her lack of fitness was always clear. Every exchange she had with the soldiers reflected this sentiment, whether it was a conversation or a glare, whether the tone was hostile or friendly. She didn’t belong here. Even worse were the mandatory biweekly sparring sessions she had to attend with the rest of the normal recruits; knowing she was a royal, knowing she didn’t belong here, knowing she was Arete’s daughter made everyone’s blows against her a little harder and the treatment she was given while the instructor’s back was turned a little rougher. More often than not, she’d finish the day marred with cuts and bruises.

Most agitating to Azura – _Azura,_ who was _desensitized_ to this treatment, who _had_ been for _years_ , who really could not care any less than she did – was when the animosity towards her led outside the training grounds. Meaning, either in the hallways, or, worst of all, the dining halls she would attend with the other retainers. Of course it was inevitable, and of course those with her would jump to her defense when such things occurred, but something about getting hounded around her friends was infinitely more humiliating than when she was alone. She couldn’t pin down why, at least not without some deep introspection that she wasn’t interested in having.

“I…” Before she could muster up an answer, her stomach growled – loud. Eyes widening, Azura looked down at the offending spot on her torso as Effie chuckled.

“Come on. Arthur! We’re grabbing food!” Calling out to the man who was still untangling himself from a tipped-over rack of weapons, Effie drifted off, not giving the girl a chance to object.

Azura let out a sigh. Being anxious this often couldn’t be good for her, and realistically there really wasn’t that much that could go wrong, not with the other retainers by her side.

 

-*-

 

The royal quarter’s dining hall was gorgeous. Krakenburg had many, a few of which were on the lower levels and no longer in use (in which Azura often used to practice singing, the acoustics were amazing) but this one was likely the most active and always had nobles and military men alike floating in and out. Two long, mahogany tables draped in wine-red cloths ran up the middle of the cream-colored marble floor, one after the other each seating some twenty people on either side. The table further in had one, larger seat at the furthest end meant for the king and only the king – though he didn’t visit the place often. Then, running horizontally along the walls were smaller benches of similar make. Hanging from the wall above each of these was a painting of some sort, most being portraits of some Nohrian historical figure. They watched over the throngs of countrymen as they gorged on food and drink; to Azura, they made her feel as though she was always being watched, although when she stared a portrait in the face their eyes were dull, empty, and appeared unfocused.

The atmosphere they gave off, however, was easily overcome by the sounds of cheery voices, clinking dishes and laughter, however pompous it may have been. Voices traveled far up beyond the marble pillars and off the domed ceiling, which contained a mural depicting the crowning of some past king in a very different-looking throne room. Azura marveled at the scenery each and every time she was brought there. More often, their group would eat together either in the barracks’ dining hall or a smaller banquet area situated closer to their own quarters.

Today, it was particularly crowded. The first omen, if you will.

Azura, Effie, and Arthur passed through the threshold and the latter commented on this almost immediately. “You think there’s an event going on?”

“Hmm… I didn’t hear about anything,” murmured Effie, nonchalantly, already scanning the place for the nearest food bowl.

Azura crept after them, nearly on her tip-toes as she looked across the sea of figures filling the area. All the times she’d been here recently, there’d been hardly fifty people. Now, there had to be at least three times that. Optimistically, one might think they’d blend in with this many people, but the princess was well aware that not even in a group of five-hundred would she ever blend in – not here, at least. Never here.

Trailing close behind Effie and Arthur – who, thankfully, both stood tall and wide enough to cast a shadow over her – she kept an eye out for open seats, along with food, because damn it, she was hungry.

Things went smoothly from there. They found a table, settled in, Azura sitting closest to the wall, cornered by her larger comrades. Though she felt a few pair of eyes pass over her, no one raised their voice or did anything past that. Soon a plate of food was in front of her, and her tensions eased. Drinks went around; evening transitioned into night; the ambience of voices filling the hall grew more slurred and smooth.

“…been reading my diary again, haven’t you!?” A thickly accented voice stuck out from the crowd.

“Heheheh, mayhaps. I just can’t help it. Besides, you leave it out all the time.” A second, equally familiar voice grew closer. Azura turned.

Drifting down towards their end of the table was a pack consisting of Laslow, Odin, Peri, and Niles. They all seemed to be in good spirits, and waved when they saw the other half of their group looking their way.

“Mind if we join?” asked Laslow, with another brief reprimanding look towards Odin. Before anyone could respond, he slipped into a seat and the rest of the group followed suit. Azura sat closest to the wall on her side of the bench, then Arthur, then Odin and Peri; on the opposite side was Effie across from Azura, then beside her, Laslow, then Niles. Despite the sometimes tense dynamics of the group, the conversation carries on well enough.

“What about you, Azura? Are you faring well enough? I haven’t been by the training grounds much since I was last deployed,” Laslow began at one point, his goblet hitting the table a bit forcefully, face having grown red.

The princess’s expression twisted. “I… suppose…?” She messed with the fork in her hands, tapping it back and forth on her empty plate. “To be honest, I have another biweekly test coming up. Because of that, I have all of tomorrow to rest in preparation.” They were never anything she looked forward to – never something _anyone_ looked forward to, but because of Azura’s circumstances the grueling, 20-hour-long endeavors were especially harsh.

The atmosphere soured, and Azura immediately regretted speaking. Laslow, Effie, and Arthur all regarded her with pity as their utensils slowed. She bit her lip, tired of the sentiment but lacking any words to fight it.

“…I hear Lady Camilla is off to Cyrkensia,” piped Odin from behind Arthur’s massive form, his hands moving in a grand gesture. “I can only imagine what such a trip will do to our good friend Selena’s purse, don’t you think, Laslow?”

The mercenary chuckled, turning away from Azura. She silently thanked both Odin and the alcohol everyone had been ingesting. “Her purse? You and I both know she’ll have fifteen new ones by the time she leaves, my friend. They’ll tell tales of her p-purse ownership in the future. How many did she buy the first time she visited Nestra… eight? Nine?”

Arthur began rubbing his chin. “If it’s Cyrkensia she’s traveling to, that’ll certainly be an interesting development. Princess Camilla has had marriage proposals left and right lately, even in her long absence from Windmire – same as Lady Elise. A city like that is a strange place to go to _avoid_ such things, if that is her intention…”

Effie sighed, finally taking a break from her food to plant her chin in her palm. Her shoulders heaved with a sigh. “Hard to imagine either of them are dealing with that. I mean, the crown prince isn’t even engaged yet, and there’s _this_ much pressure on his younger siblings to marry off…?”

“Don’t expect anything like that from him any time soon, either,” Laslow replied with a snort. “He’s locked up in that tower, after all. If anything, King Garon would probably have to resort to arranging a marriage.”

“Hmm… Though, the coming war probably takes more precedence than that,” Arthur added.

Azura turned the idea over in her head. The idea of any of her siblings getting married felt far-fetched. She’d often wonder why _she_ hadn’t been married off, either, before she’d realized her being ostracized from the rest of the royal family was the likely cause of her lack of suitors. No point marrying royal blood if you could gain nothing from it – not that she even _was_ of royal blood, at least not Nohr’s. Camilla, meanwhile, had been drawing the unwanted attention of predatory folks since she was fourteen and likely would continue to for years to come. Azura couldn’t say she was envious of that. It only ever seemed to contribute to her sister’s misery.

“It’s Cheve, actually,” Niles spoke up between chews, before taking a swig from his favorite flask of rum. “Not Cyrkensia. That’s probably the last possible place you’d want to go when you’re trying to avoid suitors.”

“Ohhh… that makes more sense,” Odin responded. “Hah, I don’t know how I mixed up the names…!”

Azura could guess – he’d refilled his goblet quite a few times in the past hour.

Effie’s head bobbed in agreement. “That makes more sense.”

“Wait a second, how do _you_ know that?” Laslow questioned, turning on the boy sitting beside him. “Have you been spying on the princess, or something?”

“Me?” The archer quirked an eyebrow. “Why, I would _never_. Camilla told me herself not too long ago.”

Grunts of discomfort and suspicion rippled through their group as Niles smirked and went back to his food. Somehow, Azura got the feeling that despite his tone, the insinuation that he and the eldest princess had been intimate was probably false. She knew the retainer enough to see through his more lewd comments, to the point where they barely fazed her anymore.

Still, though, she wondered if there was any truth behind it.

“Pardon me…?”

A new voice joined from the fray, and Arthur turned, his large frame blocking whoever had approached their side of the table from Azura’s view. He sat up, and nodded. “Yes, milady?”

“I’m afraid my colleagues and I have this table reserved from ten o’ clock onwards, milord,” said the woman. Her cadence was nothing but polite, but behind her words hid the same condescendence Azura knew so well. “Might I ask your troupe here to move?”

Effie sat forward in her seat, one of her elbows landing a little _too_ hard on the tabletop. “Hey, excuse me, but we had this place first-“

“That wouldn’t be a problem, milady,” Arthur cut in, tone gentle. As he rose, Effie’s eyebrows shot up in betrayal, but with a huff, she soon followed suite, as did the other retainers - though they looked just as disgruntled as the blonde woman. Azura could understand the man’s way of thinking – better to do this than start more trouble.

She peeked around the man’s back, catching a glimpse of a heavily-powdered woman in a red- and gray- dress with a rose and two rapiers embroidered to the low-cut collar. The Mauvieux family – a high ranking Chevois clan known for supplying knights to the castle. Behind her were some six or so other figures, all looking just as dignified and well-groomed as her. Turning, Azura looked back over their own group – all in wrinkled training clothes, sullied by sweat.  Peri was the only one made up nice, though that wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

With a bit more chatter amongst themselves, they shifted past the newcomers and into the main aisle. The princess felt their gazes drilling into her back.

After that, seating became a little more difficult. The banquet hall had somehow filled with even more people as the night had matured, and with the drinks going around people would be reluctant to make room, especially for anyone looking as undignified as them.

Eventually, they settled on splitting up. Laslow, Effie, and Odin took a few open seats at a bench near the far end of the hall, while Azura, Peri, Arthur, and Niles took four open seats scattered around one of the longer, central tables, closer to the entrance. It wasn’t quite as comfortable; the only person Azura was close enough to speak to without raising her voice was Peri, who was across the table and one seat over from her. Arthur was three seats to Azura’s left; far enough that they couldn’t chat, but close enough to jump into action if anything happened. But all she had to do was finish her plate of food, and maybe snag one more bread roll – the extra sparring session today had put a hole in her stomach, it seemed – and then she’d be free to turn in for the night.

She hadn’t noticed when she’d picked out the seat, but Azura soon found that she was stuck in a throng of unsavory types. (She might argue that all Nohrian royals were unsavory, but these few in particular seemed to be on the nastier side.)

It started out small – the discussion they were having was around some other noblewoman of a lesser Chevois family who’d fallen in love with a high-ranking officer in the border guard, who also happened to be a friend of a number of people in the group here. The affections apparently went both ways, with marriage on the horizon, but they only spoke mockingly of the duo, making jovial comments about how it only made sense that a woman who’d thrown away the easy life to run around with a sword would never find love with someone of _equal_ social status to her. Their laughter was loud and intimidating, surrounding the princess from all directions and walling her in, making her complete lack of reaction to it all stand out more and more.

“Oh, _my_! Goodness gravy.”

Arthur’s familiar shout broke through the chatter, and a couple eyes flicked to him, including Azura. He’d managed to sent every last drop of a freshly-ordered appetizer soup all over his shirt and lap; then while struggling to get out of his seat his large hand had knocked over his cup of wine, sending it cascading down the table a few seats nearly to where Niles’s head was poking out from between two bystanders, a smirk of pity on his face.

“Hot! Pardon me, excuse me! Hot, hot, hot!” barked the man as he rose and danced between chairs and bodies as he made his way to the exit, holding his shirt out from his chest as steam rose furiously from the soiled fabric. His tipsiness didn’t help his cause, though, and in making his escape the man ended up knocking over two or three others.

Slowly, everyone around Arthur’s seat went back to their food as maids swarmed his place to clean up the mess. Conversations shifted and changed, and Azura managed to tune out of the one the crowd around her had been having.

Soon after, though, the creeping feeling of someone’s gaze on her began to sink in. She didn’t look up from her food, but she knew it wasn’t just the weirdly realistic portraits hanging on the walls. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up; she shifted in the chair, bringing herself closer together; her breaths grew more constricted, and her mouth dry despite the lukewarm tea she was drinking. When at last she looked up and assessed her surroundings, she found one of the men in the group, sitting some three seats to her right and across the table from her, was giving her a blank yet hungry stare that didn’t waver at all when she made eye contact. Jaw clenching, her focus snapped back to her plate.

Her fork slowed as it moved from her plate to her mouth and back as she felt more people around her looking her way. Then, breaking the tense silence, the woman sitting beside her spoke.

“Who would’ve thought I would be dining next to _Princess_ Azura someday?” she began, tone friendly.

Azura didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t.

“Yes, a rare occasion indeed. Though I have heard she’s frequented the upper levels of the palace, lately.”

They kept talking, talking about her but not really _to_ her even if some of their statements seemed like they expected a response. In the end they didn’t care what she had to say – that was how this always went – they would much rather go in circles speaking about their own ideas as to what her life was like. Most of them were like this. Some noblemen weren’t as bad, sure; rather than being aggressive towards her they’d simply watch. Niles had once likened it to being viewed as a monkey, observed by scholars trying to understand its primitive behavior. They might not be outwardly antagonistic like the others, but that didn’t mean they had any sympathy for her. Occasionally, too, there were types like the staring man – that strange fascination evolved into some kind of desire, perhaps spurred on by how ‘forbidden’ it might’ve been considering she was universally hated. Or maybe it was something sicker than that, like desire that came from a place of hate itself and a need to silence her or put her in her place or something – whatever it was Azura was sure she’d never understand and didn’t really want to.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember _me_ , Princess Azura…?” the voice of the woman beside her suddenly got closer. From her peripheral vision, she could see the lady had turned in her seat, and was leaning partway onto the table, her brown curls of hair just brushing the edge. “We met when we were children, you know.”

Stone-faced, Azura looked the woman over. She was perhaps twenty, with a pointed face, but she couldn’t say she remembered ever seeing her before. Likely, she had been one of the dozens of children who’d chased her through the halls calling her words they didn’t know the meaning to and laid a few blows on her once they had her cornered. But there’d been so many incidents that Azura could hardly bother to remember each and every face, nevermind when it was over ten years ago.

Explaining that much would require a lot of sugar-coating that Azura didn’t have the effort to do right now, so she bowed her head and went back to her food.

“I’m speaking to _you_ , _Princess Azura,”_ growled the woman a second time, sitting taller in the chair.

Tired, tired, _tired_ of this, Azura kept her mouth shut and filled her mouth with a large swirl of pasta, savoring the flavor. _I’m so tired. I’m so_ tired.

Realizing by the sizable mouthful of food she’d taken that she wasn’t planning on giving them any response, the faces around Azura darkened with disgust, though after a few moments of silence they went back to chattering amongst themselves.

She swallowed the bite and spared a glance the other way; Peri was watching her and those around her carefully, while still doing a number on the slab of pork she’d near shredded to bits on her plate. Hopefully, the girl wouldn’t need to come to her defense. Effie or Arthur stepping in was one thing; _Peri,_ on the other hand, was a whole different can of worms.

Fortunately, it seemed that the moment had passed, though, and Azura allowed a smidgen of tension to be let off her shoulders.

Shortly after this, someone’s palm made contact with the back of her head and forced it down before she could even react.

The next thing Azura knew, the left half of her face was buried in mushy pasta and globs of tomato sauce.

Her body instinctively fought against the pressure on her head, shoulders wriggling as she struggled to sit up. But the woman beside her had a surprising amount of power in her thick arms, and her fingers dug deeper into Azura’s scalp, twisting themselves in the roots of her hair. A little twist was all it took to nearly bury the princess’s face in her plate, making her flail more frantically to escape the grip. Sounds around her blurred; voices became inseparable from one another, entertained chortles mingled with grunts of disgust; somewhere high up the notes of a string instrument blended in and out of the chaos, oblivious to Azura’s struggle.

Between the rim of the deep bowl digging into her neck, the pressure put on her face, and the food surrounding it she soon found herself struggling to breath, gasping in breaths speckled with sauce and strands of her own hair. Her fingernails dug into the edge of the table as she tried to push back against the woman’s strength, urged on by some kind of energy that only grew as more jeers and laughs reached her ears. Anger. Not an emotion Azura was very familiar with, but now it surged through her veins. Whether it was because she was in front of her colleagues, or what, she wasn’t sure, but either way it wasn’t enough to free her.

“You have enough gall to show your face _here_. I mean, _wow._ I thought you knew your place,” the woman crooned into her ear, tugging at the back of her head so as to smear Azura’s face deeper into the plate. “And now you have the gall to treat us with such disrespect? Who did you bed, to think of yourself all high and mighty, now?”

Azura could only cough in response.

Then, for a moment, her grip lightened, and instantly she shot up, spine straight against the back of the chair. More laughter erupted as she reached for her napkin and tried to clear some of the mess from her eyes; as she was doing this, Azura heard the cork leave a bottle. Before she could make any meaning out of the sound, strong-smelling red wine started pouring down her head, dripping unevenly down her face, soaking the napkin and her hands holding it up, and soiling the front of her attire.

Lowering the napkin, Azura blinked as the table came into focus again. The noblewoman had a wolfish grin on her face as she set the now empty bottle back down beside one of her friends.

“I’d bet you haven’t tasted a fine wine in a while, Princess Azura,” taunted one of the men across from her.

They were all staring, eyes gleaming, lips upturned like theater masks. Waiting for some kind of response.

Azura didn’t give one. She only stared, expression blank, only somewhat aware of just how silly she now looked with bright red pasta-sauce caking parts of her face and stuck to her long hair and eyelashes, wine dripping from her skin like blood. A numbness came over her – it was familiar, a learned reaction after dealing with abuse like this for so long. Just tune it out – tune everything out and eventually, once they’d have their fun, they’d lose interest and she could come back. In the end, that made it easier for her than fighting back ever would.

Another man, all excited, decided he wanted a turn and reached across the table. Azura watched his hand extend, grubby fingers twisting into her disgusting hair and slamming her face back down into the table. The awkwardness of his position made his aim a bit off, though, and her nose ended up making contact with the edge of the bowl, hard. Despite her dazed state, a yelp sounded from her throat as pain spiked from the center of her nose up her face, bringing tears to her eyes. Weakly, she fought back, aware it wasn’t enough.

The pain grew and Azura was on the border between consciousness and unconsciousness when all at once, the pressure stopped and the man’s hand froze. This was accompanied by a sickening wail that silenced almost half the banquet hall.

Numbly, Azura looked up.

A steak knife was protruding from his wrist. The end, bloodied, poked out from between his tendons and dug all the way into the tabletop. At the hilt was another hand, gloved. Azura’s eyes found the owner; the girl sitting a spot down from him. Peri. She’d nearly climbed all of the way up onto the table, with one leg dangling off the side. Her etiquette instructors would murder her, if they were here right now.

A lot happened after that. Peri started throwing around threats of murder and mutilation; the woman next to Azura stood up and started waving around the empty wine bottle at said retainer like a weapon; maids, butlers, and other guests alike swarmed the spot, the latter looking on in awe and fear and revilement while the workers sought to escort the injured man out and clean the blood that’d dribbled all over the tablecloth. Eyes glazing over, Azura watched, nose overwhelmed by the stench of the wine that now clung to her clothes, until someone else laid their hands on her again.

She didn’t even acknowledge it at first, because it didn’t even _matter_ anymore, did it? All the harm had been done. If she got dunked in her food one more time, it wouldn’t make a difference. If Peri hacked off the person’s hand, it wouldn’t make a difference. The scene had been made, the arrow had been let loose, Azura had ruined things _again_ for the people she barely deserved to call friends, just for existing.

“Lady Azura,” said the person behind her, voice tight and impatient. She wasn’t fazed.

“ _Azura.”_

Sighing, the princess glanced around her left, eyes widening slightly when she recognized Niles standing there. His grip on her upper arm tightened, not enough to hurt but just enough to shake her from her daze.

“We should go,” he said. He looked tired.

Azura glanced back over to Peri, who was now being accosted by a group of three armed guards. He was right. Better to make themselves scarce and deal with the consequences once things had died down than to be hauled off by the guards once they realized they were part of Peri’s party.

Slipping out of the chair, Azura stood and followed Niles as he led them out of the hall.

 

-*-

 

Krakenburg was quiet for a number of reasons. Mainly, many of its inhabitants were still dining. On top of this, the hour was late, so those who’d finished eating were likely already headed home for the night. And in general, since it was spring there were less people cooped up within the palace walls; most of the traffic was during the day, if at all. Springtime celebrations were done outdoors, on the streets of Windmire.

Because of that, the two figures walking briskly through the corridors were not bothered on their way. Moving from brazier to brazier, the dim lights sent their long shadows dancing across the earthy-toned walls and floors, Azura’s wrist still in Niles’s grip.

He was uncharacteristically silent, his movements uncharacteristically stiff. Azura spent quite a bit of time staring and trying to wonder why that was. He was upset, no doubt, though he rarely ever showed anything of the sort. Upset at the nobles, sure, he always was. Upset at Peri for her brashness, too, upset that they’d had to practically run from the dining hall, upset that even being associated with such a scuffle would harm not only his image but Leo’s as well.

The path they were following was more or less the way Azura took to go back to her quarters, though from the uppermost level they were on it took at least a half an hour. She was finally opening her mouth to speak when he stopped, letting go of her arm.

They were in a wide, poorly-lit hallway, adjacent to one of the main paths through the castle if Azura remembered correctly. On the wall to their right was what appeared to be a washroom.

Niles glanced over at her, face now devoid of expression. “If you want to at least wash your face, go ahead.”

Azura found herself complying, and stepped around the walls into a space around the size of a closet with a sink on one wall, and a shelf of cleaning supplies on the other. It was lit by single lantern hanging on the wall, but that was enough for the princess to see herself in the mirror.

For a while she stood leaned over the sink, eyes drilling into those of her reflection’s, fighting back the urge to vomit. It was the throbbing pain in her nose that eventually brought her back to the present and moved one of her hands to the faucet.

 

After washing up and emerging back into the corridor, she found Niles still waiting there, back against the wall. He pushed off when he noticed her. Once assuring she was good to head off again, he started forward at a more reasonable pace.

Cleaning up had given Azura a bit more clarity, and with that she could think over the whole situation fully, for better or worse. In the end, of course, she supposed it was inevitable that something like that would’ve happened. She just hadn’t been anticipating anything _that_ bad. It’d ended up here, with her following around Niles through the same grim hallways she was used to, exhausted enough to collapse at any moment.

Gods, it was just so tiring. All of it was. So tiring, yet inescapable.

Azura trailed behind, her steps growing less even. Niles noticed before long, glancing lazily over his shoulder and slowing when he noticed the girl wiping at her watering eyes.

“Hey-…”

“It’s… fine,” she managed, ducking her head lower. “Just keep going…”

Visibly, the archer tensed, then gave in and carried on, pace slowing even more. Azura’s sniffles gradually evolved into sobs behind him.

They rounded another corner and caught the attention of a guard patrol coming from the other direction. The men gawked at the princess but said nothing, though the judgment was clear on their faces. Niles decided enough was enough and pulled them off to the side - a set of drapes and a rickety glass door later, they emerged onto a balcony that poked out into the crater Krakenburg was built within.

Above and below, warm lights twinkled with streaks of black stone running between them. Azura stumbled over to the handrail, standing in stark contrast to the rest of the scene with her pale, blue hair running down her back.

Niles clicked the door shut behind him before leaning against it and averting his gaze from the princess. It took all of ten seconds before she started to sob again, shoulders shaking with each breath. She cried, cried some more, cried, cried, cried; he kept his mouth shut, part of him wanting to leave but afraid of what she might do if he did. Her knuckles were white as her fingers tightened around the banister.

Eventually he zoned out, arms crossing. His mind wandered into areas he preferred it not to be – things he preferred to block out, like the fact he was in essentially the same situations as Azura, a jester, fool, entertainment but not really a _full_ person. Yet like her, save for when he was given orders by Leo, he’d be trapped in this hole in the ground for the rest of his life, however short it might turn out to be. Trash, unwelcome, worthless. No matter how much either of them tried to shut the thoughts out, he supposed you could only fill a cup with so much wine before it began to overflow. Bad pun not intended.

After a while she started to calm. And for all the times they’d chatted together in the past, he found his tongue twisted. Sure, Azura had verbally admitted many things about her life in the past, but it was always through a filter. She’d never actually _cried._ It was different, and different felt weird to Niles, but he supposed it was expected of friends to comfort each other in times of need, even if it betrayed the image he was always trying to put on.

Leaning her head over the edge of the banister, Azura watched as tears dripped off her cheeks and fell through the empty air beneath her. _Corrin has it so much worse than you,_ she told herself, nails digging into the hard stone until her knuckles trembled. _So many people have it worse than you, so…_

The thought wasn’t as comforting as it had once been. How long? How long would she rot in the castle? Why did she have to await her death like this?  Why was she _selfish_ enough to think she could drag down others with her?

“Hey, Azura,” Niles tried, resting against the handrail as well, leaving a respectable amount of space between them. “I’m all ears, if you need it. If there’s anything good that comes out of hanging around me, it’s always been that, right?”

The words had truth to them. Somehow, the experience of being stuck in an uncomfortable treatment room together months ago had sparked some kind of actual companionship between them. It didn’t even come close to how she’d befriended Corrin, though, in terms of irregularity.

Her shoulders heaved with another sigh as she buried her face in her palms. She’d cried as much as she was capable of doing, and now was left feeling like her lungs had been emptied of air. The moment had passed; now, if anything, she just felt embarrassed at the strong show of emotion.

There wasn’t a magical fix-it, there wasn’t an easy way out. Her life wasn’t just going to randomly improve.

But talking could at least put her mind at ease.

“Thank you,” she said, wiping her eyes for good measure before turning to him. “As usual, I’ll be taking you up on that offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kindred spirits and similar trauma? good shit.
> 
> this one's basically setting up some big changes that will come in Azura's story, including the part w/ Leo


	28. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The songstress is offered a relief from her struggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or: some good things finally happen to azura
> 
> OR: Everyone Drinks Some Tea

Floral scents circulated in the washroom of Azura’s quarters, mingling with clouds of steam. The princess’s head was laid back on the rim of the tub, hair thoroughly cleaned and every last drop of wine scrubbed from her skin. The only evidence that remained of the squabble in the banquet hall was a nasty bruise on the bridge of her nose, standing out against her pale skin.

She let out a soft sigh, drifting in and out of consciousness.

-

_Azura wasn’t sure how it’d ended up happening, and she was on edge. Her hands were curled into fists, palms clammy. Her brow was set, too, spine stiff._

_She’d only ever seen Effie’s quarters before. The size of the room was about the same – enough to fit a small bed by the window, a desk, shelf or two against the walls, and a little rug with a table for tea in the center. Smaller than Azura’s space, though of a much nicer build and upkeep since it was in a renovated part of the palace. There were times the princess thought her walls would cave in, given how many loose bricks there were. (It might’ve been a convenience for the king)_

_Where Effie’s room had stripes of pink here and there, Niles’s quarters were much less lively in appearance. Walls were mostly bare, the windowsill held no plants or trinkets… his desk, too, was not only empty but collecting_ dust _at that. (She would later find out that this was because his reading and writing skills were far below average, so all of Leo’s secretary work got turned over to Odin.)_

_Reassuring to her was the fact that the room didn’t look like some freaky sex dungeon. Unless he hid all of that nonsense underneath his bed. It just looked like a normal living space, which, given her impression of the man, was shocking._

_“What? Go on, sit down,” came his voice from behind her, followed by the door shutting. The noise felt loud. Azura obliged, taking a seat at the table and folding her hands in her lap._

_What followed was unexpectedly normal. He got some drinks out from a cabinet, was understanding when she turned it down and didn’t press the matter. He sat at the table like any other person would – well, maybe not a_ noble _, but close enough – and drank his rum or whatever it was at a reasonable pace. When Azura was hesitant to make conversation, he filled the silence. He talked about why his room was so empty, what it was like having Odin as a next-door neighbor, the various unsanitary places he’d called home in his past and how nice Krakenburg was in comparison… Azura found herself interested in it all despite how uneasy she’d felt coming here. Around an hour into the conversation she realized the reason he was talking so much, and so easily, was because he likely didn’t have anyone around who’d listen to his stories so attentively. Azura had Jakob for what felt like the longest time, and even if she couldn’t tell him everything, just having someone there to chatter to was relieving._

_The longer she stayed, the more comfortable he seemed to get. His sentences, normally laced with self-deprecating comments and nasty jabs at himself or others, with “not like it matters” or “stupid, isn’t it?” peppered in here and there, smoothed out and became more expressive._

_Maybe it was just the alcohol._

_The first visit, Azura didn’t talk much. The second and third, she started to warm up. Sometimes it was just a comment here and there, or a chuckle, at others it was a tentative retelling of some story she’d heard or hardship she’d gone through. Niles would chirp in some crude comment about how shitty and terrible the Nohrians at the castle were, and Azura would find herself agreeing wholeheartedly. It was a sentiment she’d always held but never felt comfortable voicing; to hear it from somebody else was validating._

_After a few more meetings, with their topics of conversation ranging anywhere from bad experiences they’d had as children to bad experiences Azura had that very day on the training grounds, she started to feel a weight being lifted from her chest._

_Odin often joined them, too. Though he couldn’t relate to many of their experiences, he still listened and offered his two cents. His presence brightened things up a little – he’d likened the tone of Azura and Niles’s conversations to a “harrowing vortex of dark, negative power”, and his own contributions to a “falchion of light that rends through the repressive atmosphere with the strength of the gods”. She got used to it, eventually._

_It was enjoyable. And it didn’t run the same risks that going somewhere public with the other retainers did. Eventually, it became a weekly event, with the three of them getting together before the week’s end. (The reasoning Niles gave for this was that if he ended up drinking too much, the hangover wouldn’t cut into his work for the next day.)_

_Somehow, it was all so comforting. Like she’d discovered a piece of life she’d been missing this entire time. Suddenly all her hardships weren’t as bad as they usually felt; her wounds didn’t hurt as much, her failures weren’t as discouraging._

_She doubted the peace would last long._

_-_

_I’ll have to go by and thank him in the morning, for putting up with me like that,_ Azura thought with another sigh.

 

-*-

 

It was noon when the princess reached that familiar door. In her arms was a tray of tea. Balancing it in one hand, she knocked; when there was no response she knocked again, then waited, biting her lip.

“You think he’s still sleeping?”

Azura nearly leapt out of her skin at the sudden exclamation, and made sure the tea hadn’t spilled before gaping over her shoulder. He’d appeared out of thin air, hands on his hips, and a loose, amused grin gracing his features.

“Niles,” she half-greeted, half-berated him, with a small smile of her own. Turning around all the way, she held out the tray. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday evening.”

His expression fell. “Err, it’s fine, Azura. We all have shit days.”

Bowing her head, the princess continued. “I… don’t exactly have anything worth giving out as a gift, so I had Jakob make some of his best tea.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I’ll have to thank the guy in person.”

The quip didn’t go over Azura’s head as she stood back at her full height. “Please, don’t. I told him I was having breakfast with Elise...”

“Oh…?” he muttered, shimmying around her to unlock the door. “And here I thought he was finally warming up to little old me.” Tipping his head to the side, he invited her inside.

“If you don’t mind,” she mumbled as she followed him through the threshold.

The tea was set on the table, and Azura went ahead and served it as Niles untangled himself of bags and equipment.  She eyed the pile of belongings on the foot of his bed as he helped himself to a cup. “Back from somewhere? The underground?”

“A bit of this and that,” he replied, taking another sip of the tea. “Damn, this is good.”

“I hope it isn’t too cold,” Azura muttered before taking a swig of her own. No, it was perfect, thankfully. When she glanced up again, she found Niles grinning into his cup as he held it to his mouth.

Catching her gaze, he righted himself and explained, “It’s nothing. I’ve just never had someone just decide to _bring_ me tea before, at least someone that’s not one of the royal butlers or maids. Did I turn into a prince overnight or something?”

Azura stumbled over an answer. “I just - wanted to thank you, for…” Whether it was embarrassment at remembering her breakdown last night or something else, she felt her face heat up. “You know why.”

He chuckled. “I’m just messing with you, Azura.” After another sip of tea, he added, “but if Jakob ever wants to dress up in a maid’s outfit and serve me tea, you can tell him he’s welcome to.”

Their conversation then drifted, but not as easily as usual; the events of the previous evening sat like a cloud over their heads, dampening the atmosphere.

“I probably should have found a closer seat last night,” Niles finally admitted, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. “…Sorry about that.”

Azura’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “It’s… not like that would have prevented much.” More words sat on her tongue – the usual rant she had about how she was a burden to the other retainers and always brought unwanted trouble like that – but she didn’t voice them. He’d heard the rant plenty of times already.

“I know,” he said.

“It’s not your responsibility, anyways, Niles. So don’t worry about it,” she continued, feet shifting beneath her chair.

Niles sat forwards. Something like surprise was written onto his face, now, as he absorbed her words. Then, finally, he gave a weak, “Yeah.”

Though he still seemed troubled, Azura didn’t push it and instead stood to collect the dishes. Between the two of them they’d completely dried out the teapot, and now all that remained were traces of the blend’s earthy scent in the air. As she reached for his cup, he suddenly shifted, grabbing her hand to stop her movements. Meeting his eye, Azura was offset by how serious he suddenly looked.

“Azura,” he started, grip tightening. She wasn’t sure what to do, so she kept her hand limp and waited, hyperaware of how warm her hand felt enclosed in his.

“Don’t you… want to leave this place?”

_That_ brought her to a total halt. Her brow knit together as she eyed him like he’d grown a second head.

“Have you been drinking?”

“I mean it,” he continued, face contorting like he was chewing through something gross.

Deciding to be patient, Azura sat back down on the edge of her chair. The grip on her hand had loosened enough that she could easily pull away if she wanted, but she chose not to. “We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? There _is_ no leaving.”

“That’s how it seems, isn’t it? But I’ve been thinking about it,” hummed Niles, careful. Their hands rested against the cool surface of the table. “It wouldn’t be too hard to play the system. There are ways.”

Azura let out a frustrated sigh, ignoring how even the very mention of leaving Krakenburg made her heart race. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop wasting his time thinking about things that’d never truly work out, but another part of her knew that Niles wasn’t dull enough to bring up such a sensitive topic unless he had something serious in mind.

Limiting her words, she replied, “What is it?”

The retainer absently traced patterns on the back of her hand as he continued, propping his head up on his other. “Lord Leo is coming back tonight. I’m going to try and meet with him then to talk about it. One way or another, I think it’d be possible to move you out of the palace.”

Azura frowned. “Leo… but he’s…”

More than a few of their ramblings in the past had been centered around Leo and how distant he’d become. Distant with his family and retainers – and close, with Iago. Odin was concerned about it, too. Whether it had something to do with the situation with Xander or something else, nobody was sure, but it was a huge source of anxiety for Niles. No one wanted to watch the prince head down the wrong path, but even if he did they’d be powerless to stop him in their position. Leo was as stubborn as he was smart.

“I have a few ideas. And I’m going to try and talk sense into Leo, anyways, before he turns into Iago’s little dress-up doll.” Niles finally released her hand and stood. He picked up the tray before she could get to it and started for the door. Azura followed, lips pursed.

“Come by if you want. It’ll probably go a lot smoother if you’re actually there, but it’s up to you,” he said as she stepped out of the room, shoving the tray into her arms. Then, back to his usual self he added, “and make sure you relay that little message I had to your butler.”

 

-*-

 

“What is this about, Niles?”

Prince and retainer stepped into the former’s quarters, abandoning all formalities at the threshold. Niles went straight to the wine cabinet (dust-coated, as it always was). As usual, he offered some to Leo; as usual, the boy turned it down.

“What, is it _that_ weird to welcome my liege home?”

The prince only sighed and sat down. Niles, out of respect, remained standing, his eye not leaving Leo.

“Do you have a request? I’d be happy to hear it tomorrow. I’m a bit tired from traveling all day…”

“Traveling?” Niles tilted his head. “Looks to me more like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Leo flinched. “Voice your concerns.” Conscious now of his appearance, the prince ducked his head so his bangs covered more of his face. But it was too late; his retainer had already got a good look at the sunken rings around his eyes and the pale sheen of his skin.

The harshness in Leo’s voice, despite his exhaustion, was enough to twist Niles’s stomach sideways, and he frowned. “Very well. It’s about your sister.”

Something flashed in the boy’s eyes. “Elise? Or Camilla…? They’re both in Cheve right now, aren’t they…?”

Niles hummed. “Princess Elise is here. But no… I’m talking about Azura.”

Leo sat up, and met Niles’s gaze proper. Slowly but surely, his features darkened into a scowl.

“She’s unhappy, Lord Leo,” spoke the retainer, bowing his head.

“I’m aware.” The words were cautious, suspicious, laced with underlying questions; _what’s it to you? Are you trying to blame_ me _for that?_

“Don’t put yourself down, I’m not pointing any fingers at you,” chimed Niles, raising his arms defensively.

Leo didn’t loosen up.

“I’ll be frank with you,” continued Niles, nervous despite everything because there was just _no_ getting through the rock wall the prince had put up around himself, “I want to move her out of here. The palace, that is.”

His hands, folded on the tabletop, twitched; that was the only reaction he gave his retainer.

“…I understand how unrealistic it may seem. She seems to have the same view on the matter…”

“And whisk her off into the underworld?” Leo growled. “That would endanger both of you. And me, by extension. Would you really sacrifice your position for her?”

Niles forced a laugh out, despite his discomfort. “Truly Prince Xander’s brother, aren’t you…?”

That earned him nothing but a glare.

“…Okay, okay, I’m pushing buttons that don’t need to be pushed right now…but I don’t mean to whisk her off into the underworld, or whatever other wild plan you may have on your mind.” At Leo’s curious gaze, he continued. “There are plenty of ideas that are worth looking into, though… just to name one off the top of my head, well…” He glanced to the right, turning his blind side to Leo. “If she were married off to someone of higher status, said spouse would have some sway in deciding where she resided, am I right?”

As Niles expected would happen, Leo went stiff as a board, eyes rounding into huge circles. “ _Marriage_? Just what are you saying?”

“It’s hypothetical, milord,” Niles continued, nonchalant, swirling his drink in his cup. “But if I’m correct, Nohrian law would allow for a spouse to have an influence on their significant other’s place of stay, huh? That happens all the time with big fancy royals, doesn’t it? The princess gets married off to the prince and he whisks her away from her sick-o father.”

“Hmm.” Leo deadpanned. “So, then, you would wed Azura and use your power as a husband to move her out of the palace, then.”

The retainer crossed his arms and forced his default smirk back onto his face. Talking with Leo was never this uncomfortable for him, and he wasn’t really into it. “Heh, I never said me. But if that’s what it took… wouldn’t want to hand her off to some creepy old man, after all.”

The prince sat for a while, his gaze moving past Niles as the gears in his head spun and spun and spun, the only movements being made being the occasional blinking of his crimson eyes. Then he snapped out of the daze, steepling his hands together, and gave his retainer a hard look.

“I have my doubts about how successful such a plan would be, Niles.”

By now, the archer was shaken enough to abandon the idea entirely – it wasn’t the only one he had in stock and it certainly hadn’t been one he’d been planning on presenting to Leo, but it had just sort of slipped out and now he was embarrassed – not even in the good way, either. “I’ve got a pretty bad feeling about it myself, milord. That’s why I came up with a few other ideas.” He grinned. “Hear little old me out?”

Leo looked strangely suspicious, now, sitting there with those deep bags under his eyes and his fingertips pressing together. Niles absently wondered if the prince would report his scheming back to his father, then thought better of it – regardless of how distant they’d become, he wasn’t the type to betray his retainer like that, and on top of that Niles was _certain_ that nothing they were discussing was outright illegal. Just conniving.  Being conniving wasn’t against the law, even if it was against the will of the king, or else all those dead concubines would’ve been executed far sooner.

“Make it quick, for both our sakes,” the prince finally breathed, resting his chin in his hand.

With a relieved sigh, Niles began bouncing more ideas off of Leo, who thankfully had an affinity for strategy. It became more and more apparent to the prince that he’d been going out of his way to study books on Nohrian law (or perhaps having someone read them aloud to him, since reading wasn’t exactly his strongest area). This both impressed Leo and bewildered him. Impressed, because Leo himself _loved_ engrossing himself in lectures on law and in academics in general, so seeing his retainer who he’d always thought was a lost cause when it came to scholarly matters brought him pride. The bewilderment came from the fact that someone of Niles’s character was actually going as far as _studying_ in his free time for someone else’s sake – especially his sister of all people. Leo tried not to think about that part. Or the strange topic of marriage he’d brought up.

“…if we were to request she be relocated,” Niles was saying, having finally taken a seat, “and use her assignment as a recruit in the military to back that up, I think we’d have a chance of getting something done, don’t you think?”

The prince’s fingers drummed on the tabletop. “You’ll have to be more specific. You seem to having something in mind, after all.”

“Cheve,” Niles said. “After all, it’s basically Nohr’s second capital. I’m sure you could bullshit some excuse as to why she’d progress more in her training if she was down there.”

Leo was quiet for a while, then sighed loudly. “That would make sense, if we were to approach it from the right angle. I’m not certain my father would _care_ enough to honor such a request… In fact, I really don’t understand why he had Azura enlist in the first place… But it would take quite a bit of groveling on her behalf. She’d need to swallow her pride and admit that she can’t keep up with her current workload.”

“All respect to Azura, but I really don’t think she has much pride left to swallow,” mused Niles, in his usual mix of smugness and pessimism. The humor in his cadence quickly melted away, though. “If they’re really gonna send her off to die, better to have a good last few months in a place where half the population _doesn’t_ hold a grudge against you.”

Sobering, Leo crossed his arms and nodded. “That’s true.”

More silence reigned as the two mulled over how to carry on the conversation from there. Then, their attention away, a knock at the door.

 

-*-

 

Prince Leo’s quarters sat at the end of a long and poorly-lit hallway. Most of the adjacent rooms were miniature libraries, stuffed to the ceiling with bookshelves. If Azura’s memory served her well there was also a room around here for training – a sort of personal barracks, though she was unsure if Leo had touched it since deciding to take up magic.

The doors to his main chambers were black and unnecessarily tall. Azura had to remind herself she was visiting an ordinary young prince, not some evil sorcerer mastermind. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed hold of the ring hanging off the wood and gave three solid knocks.

Voices came from within, and around thirty seconds later one of the doors swung open, revealing the taller frame of Niles; Leo’s blonde head and angry eyebrows poked out from behind him.

“Finally decided to show up?” The retainer leaned against the doorframe, crossing his legs. “Welcome, welcome.”

Niles was promptly half-pulled, half-shoved out of the way by his liege, who filled the gap only to stare straight at Azura, a variety of emotions swimming in his eyes. As he always did when Azura saw him, the prince looked older and wearier.

She wondered what the retainer had told him – how much of their private conversations on troubles and insecurities he’d spilled. By now, she trusted him, but if Niles would ever open his mouth about her to anyone she could see it, understand it being Leo of all people.

“Come in, Azura,” the prince finally said, almost apologetically. He bowed his head and stepped to the side, pulling the door open all the way with his back to give her more room. “Niles, I think we’re finished here.”

Said retainer’s brow shot up, his one eye widening. “Milord…? What we discussed-“

“ _I think we’re finished here._ I would like to speak with my sister, _alone.”_ The harshness of his tone caught Azura off guard, and she paused between the two of them, watching in concern. “You are excused.”

Confusion, hurt, worry and acceptance passed across Niles’s features before he bowed deeply. “Understood, Lord Leo.” He waved to Azura as he left; Leo closed the door behind him a bit too forcefully.

The scent of tea-leaves hung in the air, mixing with the smell of ink and paper that had always occupied Leo’s spaces. Azura was quick to identify the source; on the table in the main foyer sat a teapot with two cups already set out across from each other, one accompanied by a larger cup meant for wine.  The chandelier above that table, along with a few candles here and there, were all the light that was provided, and the space itself seemed almost too tidy, making Azura think that Leo had perhaps _just_ returned to his room and hadn’t even had time to settle in before Niles had come knocking.

“Leo… if you wish to sleep, don’t let me interrupt you,” she started, turning to face him. “I only came on the request of Niles. If…”

“Sit, Azura,” Leo sighed, all the anger leaving his voice. His shoulder slumped over in exhaustion as he walked towards the table. “Please. I… I needed to talk with you regardless of what business Niles had.”

The princess lowered herself into a seat as told, waiting as the tired prince poured her a cup of tea. By the scent, it was the same blend she’d brought the retainer yesterday. She didn’t pressure him into speaking, only sat and watched.

“I suppose you have a similar opinion of me as he does,” he began, eyes lidded as he stared down at his hands. “I’ve been distant, buried in my studies, reclusive and rude…”

Azura’s fingers wove around the teacup. “…I don’t, Leo. Niles doesn’t have a bad opinion of you, either. We’re just… worried.”

“Understandably so,” admitted Leo. “You probably think I’ve committed all sorts of heinous crimes, too, with how much of a shadow I’ve become to Iago, no…?”

They both winced at this – Azura because he was, for the most part, right, and Leo because of his own guilt. The princess watched him carefully, then asked, “Is something wrong?”

Leo was quiet for a long time. He took long sighs and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. More and more signs that something had happened.

“I should begin by explaining what exactly I’ve been doing for the past year or so,” the prince muttered, crossing his arms. “The more I looked into the case of the faceless, the more intrigued I became. How could someone like Iago come up with such an innovative breakthrough? Necromancy has been regarded as nothing more than a myth for at least the last century – and even then I couldn’t tell if the faceless were actual products of necromancy, or something else entirely. To be able to create a being with that much strength – well… I’ll spare you the details of their biology, but needless to say I was dreadfully curious as to how Iago happened upon the faceless.

“So I did what I could. I became one of his brightest pupils, ran him favors, gave him my agreement on issues I absolutely would never agree to normally… I gained his trust even if he would never see me as anything but a nuisance and a half-blooded bastard. And it paid off.”

Leo paused to sip his tea. Exhaustion had settled over his face like a fresh blanket of snow, making him resemble his absent elder brother.

“I wanted to find out as much as I could about the origin of the faceless. It may seem insignificant to you, and hell, maybe it _was_ a pointless idea in the beginning. But what I found out, Azura…” He shook his head, eyelids squeezing shut as though he were trying to forget something.

Azura sat on the edge of her seat, jaw clenched. She didn’t know much about the faceless herself, only that the discovery was one of Iago’s latest claims to fames, and that they were _incredibly_ dangerous to handle – part of the reason she, Niles, and so many other had been worried on Leo’s behalf.

“If you’re wondering why I’m telling you of all people, well… You’re really the only one in the palace I feel I can completely trust with the information I’m about to give you. You have no strict ties or obligations to anyone, no one to report me to and no reason to, for all I know,” he said. “Maybe it’s cruel of me to burden you with it, but I just _have_ to get it off my chest. _Please_ understand, Azura.”

Holding the cup up to her lips and gnawing on the edge, Azura nodded.

“…The faceless… I don’t think I discovered their true origins, but all I can say is that they’re nothing of this realm. No tome, no matter how old, contains anything like it – at least nothing I’ve ever found in the libraries. The text is even in some alphabet I’ve never seen before… but security on the parchments is so tight that I had to be monitored every time I would go in for study. The foreignness of it isn’t unlike Hoshidan magic – the format, incantations, _everything_ is distinctly not Nohrian. I’ve never seen anything like it, Azura.

“And… what it _does…_ ” he gulped, fingers curling into fists. “At… at first I thought it’d be necromancy. While it’s seen as impractical in Nohrian sorcery, it seemed to be the closest match to whatever was going on with the faceless. Raise the dead, empower their bodies and send them into Hoshido; given their brains only function on the lowest level, that would prevent the barrier currently up from affecting them. We’ve studied it enough to know it affects men on a cognitive level. Degenerate the brain it’s closer to that of a wild animal than a man.”

“Then… it’s _not_ necromancy…?” Azura tried to hide the confusion in her voice.

“Yes and no,” Leo responded, not meeting her gaze. “The process isn’t too different from what I described – besides being extremely foreign, like I said – but…” His lips twisted into a frown.

“But…?” Azura felt sweat forming in her palms.

“Yesterday, I was finally invited,” Leo went on, each word coming out slow and heavy. “I’d never participated in or even bore witness to the actual summoning of a faceless before. It was my end goal. Studying is one thing, but actually experiencing it…”

Silence. Then, “It’s living people. They used _living people_ , not corpses. After I saw it, it clicked – that was how they’re able to imbue the Faceless with so much more power. Necromancy, theoretically, would struggle because of how broken down the body would be; there’s less material to work with, less potential. Living humans are a different story; they’re still growing and changing, and whatever this magic is it can tap into that process and mutate it…”

Though Leo’s expression had not changed from its grimace, he’d started to cry. It wasn’t until tears began rolling down his cheeks that he noticed, and he ducked away, wiping them, mumbling an apology.

“Leo…” Azura didn’t know what to say. She wanted to comfort the clearly distraught boy before her but was too caught up with what she’d just been told. _Living subjects._

“It was _terrible._ The whole way back – all I could think, Azura… how many?” He looked her dead in the eyes, voice trembling with raw fear. “How many Faceless have been summoned in _just_ the past few years? How many people does that amount to? Lives. I-I don’t even know _why_ it upset me this way, Azura. I have no qualms about punishing criminals, with death if need be. Somehow this was worse. It was so much worse.”

Leo stopped to collect himself, eventually getting up to fetch a handkerchief. Azura felt cold, awaiting a shiver that wouldn’t come.

Part of her wasn’t surprised that Nohr would stoop this low; another part was burning with righteous anger. As the prince took his seat again, wiping at his eyes, that anger grew.

Despite Leo’s obedience to his country and his apparent loyalty to Iago, despite his status as prince and his devotion to his father, he’d done such a thing. And on top of that, he’d told Azura of it, trusting her with information that could ruin him, lead to unimaginable punishment.

Inspired by Leo’s own dark confession and despite her vow of silence on the issue, Azura spoke up.

“Leo, there’s… there’s something similar I should probably tell _you_.”

He stilled, leaning forward slightly in his seat. “…About what?”

There was a moment of hesitation – a bite at her lip, a little fidgeting of her hands – then she spilled everything. The words came pouring out so much that she had to stop and catch her breath now and then. Time bled by in the meantime, with a yawn forcing itself out of Leo now and then, although when she asked if he wanted her to leave he insisted she stay and explain things further. Every detail came out, from the day she first stumbled upon Iago and his men in the bowels of the palace, to the theft of the dragonstone. Fear wouldn’t let go of Azura’s heart, though, making her voice shake now and then because it would be horrible if Leo spilled everything to his father. But Xander hadn’t, to her knowledge; she had to believe Leo wouldn’t, either.

When all was said and done the princess slouched over in her seat, emotionally drained. Leo sat with equally poor posture, much of his weight focused on his elbows. He stared at his hands, woven together atop the table, brow deeply furrowed. He’d stopped asking questions a while ago, and now seemed to be completely engrossed in his own thoughts.

Eventually Azura pulled herself out of the seat and bowed. “…In any case, I should let you get rest, Leo. I’ve taken too much of your time.”

He stood as well, breaking out of his daze all of a sudden. “Ah, wait just a moment, Azura…” His voice was still groggy, like his thoughts hadn’t caught up with him yet. “Cheve… Earlier, Niles proposed we find a way to get you relocated to Cheve.”

“Cheve?” she peeped, nearly jumping at the word. “Why…”

“I can explain the details to you at a later time, but…” After yawning, he continued, “Cheve has a very powerful military, and has a much better reputation for bringing up good soldiers than Krakenburg does. If we word things right, we should be able to get father’s permission for you to continue your training there.”

With that, Leo nodded to himself and started to clear off the table. He muttered something about being exhausted and her needing to rest up for tomorrow’s affairs, but Azura was much too distracted by the sudden revelation to really hear him. _Cheve…_

She’d never lived outside the castle before, not since her arrival when she was barely old enough to remember. Certainly she’d gone on leisure trips with Camilla in the past, but those were a week or two at most. All of her problems came from the palace and its occupants, all of her life’s trauma had occurred within these walls. What would existing someplace else do for her? She felt bound to Krakenburg, as much a part of it as the old portraits that had been hanging in its corridors for dozens of years.

Shaking with a combination of excitement and anxiety, Azura excused herself and started back for her quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..timeskip + enter Azura and Niles, the dramatic sad high school couple that wears too much eyeliner and writes poetry behind the staircase
> 
> If he's more than a smidge OOC here I apologize, i totally don't mean to tone down his lewdness because that's what makes Niles Niles (although I do see the issues with how one of the few canonically bi characters in the game also happens to be extremely creepy/huge flirt) I just think he'd act a little more chill around people he's more open/comfortable with
> 
> And whoops, Leo found out. Since he's not really a main or secondary character, I'm not going to make it clear what he may eventually do with that information ;)


	29. Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corrin takes her first steps towards home.

With time, Corrin grew used to life in the fortress. Xander built his walls back up. Neither spoke of what’d happened that one night; the Hoshidan because she didn’t even know where to _begin_ when it came to approaching such a topic, and the prince because he was too busy trying to repress the fact that it’d even happened, that he’d had a moment of such weakness.

Patiently, they awaited the spring. Felicia and Flora worked sunrise to sundown with Corrin, assimilating her to as normal of a life as one could get in a place and position like this. Xander drifted across the fortress like a ghost and kept his time on the rooftop to a minimum. Now and then, they trained, getting used to fighting alongside each other.

The days grew longer. On one of these longer afternoons, light drifting through the windows around the fortress and casting long angular shadows from the various pieces of furniture, Xander was making his way back up to his chambers as he passed an adjacent room in the central tower, pausing by the entrance.

Inside was a rather spacious area, full of dusty shelves and a slightly tidied-up rug. In the center sat a large, old piano. Seated at it was Corrin, her thin fingers dancing across the keys; Felicia stood at her side, lips upturned in an encouraging smile.

The notes were jittery at times, measures stuttering in a reflection of the player’s struggle. He stood there, watching from the doorway. She’d been practicing for a number of weeks, now, with the maids teaching her the basics; most of the time she would play the same set of notes over and over, deadset on perfecting whatever song was in her head. It sounded vaguely familiar to Xander, but he couldn’t identify it.

She’d improved a good amount, certainly. He couldn’t deny that, as much as he sought to stay out of the girl’s business. And it was good that she had _something_ to spend time doing, something to take her mind off of her situation. But as their unavoidable journey back to Krakenburg loomed over them, it made Corrin’s valiant attempts to learn to play the piano in this moment seem insignificant.

He stood there, losing track of time as he fell into a daze. Corrin replayed the melody in her head over and over; occasionally she’d let out a grunt or huff of frustration, and the notes would become a little more forceful. Felicia would chime in with a compliment every now and then. The patches of light that spilled in through the window across the floor spread further as the sun sunk towards the mountains around them, stretching out the shadows of the two girls.

Eventually she stopped playing, and the two turned their attention to Xander, who was now leaning against the wall and staring at the ground. Felicia approached him, and Corrin soon after, with the same wary expression she always had around him.

“Lord Xander,” greeted Felicia with a bow. “I apologize for not addressing you sooner, I didn’t notice you...”

Slipping out of his daze, Xander frowned, pushing off of the doorframe. “No, it’s quite alright… I only wished to address you two on tomorrow’s affairs, one last time.”

Felicia bowed again in understanding. “The king’s men should be arriving in the morning, yes?”

“…Yes,” was Xander’s reply, accompanied with a scowl. “We’ll leave immediately. Apparently my father is not allowing them a rest, not even for a single night.”

Felicia’s expression melted into one of worry and anxiety. “And then we’re starting for the palace…”

“…Yes.” The same feelings weighed heavily on the prince’s heart. His gaze moved to Corrin; there was nothing but determination present in her eyes.

_She has a long ways to go,_ he thought grimly, before nodding at the two again. “I’ll leave you to your affairs, then. Prepare however you see fit.”

“Understood, Lord Xander,” Felicia said with one last bow.

Then he left, climbing the rest of the way up to his room, the piano notes echoing in his head.

 

-*-

 

Evening turned to night and night bled into dawn, and before long Xander was riding through the outer gate of the fortress, mounted atop his horse, heavy cloak across his shoulders and Siegfried at his side. His father had sent a generous amount of his men to escort the prince home; an entire twelve, on top of the fortress staff who were also joining them. At the back of their entourage was Corrin, who had just barely avoided being strung up in chains due to the prince’s insistence that she was – the word had rolled off his tongue like sludge – ‘tame’. Two heavily-armored royal knights flanked her, along with two of Iago’s sorcerers who were equipped to throw up a cloaking spell should the need arise. Apparently Garon was less concerned about word of his dragon’s existence getting out now that war was truly on the horizon, but he also wasn’t about to underestimate the sheer vastness of the information network that any remaining Hoshidan spies likely had access to.

It felt surreal, riding out of the gates for what would hopefully be the last time. One weight was lifted from his shoulders, another pressed down harder. He didn’t look back.

The soldiers didn’t attempt to make conversation with Xander, and he was grateful for that. Perhaps a little offset by how quiet his father’s guard had become, but grateful nonetheless. He found himself suppressing the urge to glance over his shoulder every few minutes, fighting to keep his eyes on the road ahead as he picked apart the landscape for any sign of the capital. It was grueling, torturous, _terrifying –_ where he’d once thought he’d be happy to get out of the fortress and have some freedom, Xander now felt even more trapped. Like he’d fallen into a whirlpool with no hope of escape, stuck on a path of which the end destination was confronting his father with his lies and treachery.

Distracting himself with thoughts of his siblings, Xander pushed onwards.

 

-*-

 

They were only a day’s journey out of the fortress, and already Corrin felt like she’d seen the entire world.

She’d been impatient the first few weeks after their agreement was made. She couldn’t get rid of the fear weighing down on her chest, nor could she drown out Lilith’s warnings repeating themselves in the back of her head. Doubt plagued her as much as the desire to run out into the mountains did.

But she contained it.

Part of it was a test of self-restraint. But her main thought was that _what was another six months?_ Six months to having a little more freedom, a little more wiggle room so she could get used to being a _person_ again. It wasn’t a lot, but compared to everything she’d gone through – nine years, _nine years_ – it was nothing.

 Goals, morals, and wishes aside, Corrin’s body held a deep desire to move, to feel the wind in her hair and the grass between her toes, to look at other people’s faces and to make conversation. So regardless of how terrible working with the prince might be, she told herself it was the first step she could take and she was going to do it no matter what, no matter how long the wait was.

Containing her excitement had been another story.

Yet somehow, despite how closely the soldiers had leered at her and how conscious she’d become of her own behavior, she’d put on a convincing act. Now, laying in a hay-bed in the back of the stables beside Lilith, the musky scent of animals wafting into her nostrils, limbs sprawled out in each direction and eyes reflecting the moon shining bright in the sky, Corrin felt alive. She savored the feeling of each breath she took, the twinkle of each star in the sky and the rustling of each blade of grass as gales blew over the plains just beyond the wooden stable walls.

This was her first step – this is where it had gotten her. She was on her way home.

“Corrin?” Lilith’s voice interrupted her moment of meditation. “Corrin…”

Blinking, the girl looked to the maid and sat partway up. “What is it?”

Lilith tilted her head. “It’s just… you’re crying.”

Corrin blinked again, then brought up a hand to rub at her eyes. Sure enough, moisture clung to her skin and lashes as she did. “You’re right.”

“…I know how scared you must be, but we have to push forwards. There’s no turning back now, not with King Garon’s men here.”

Corrin nodded. She’d been guided into the far end of the stables of the countryside inn they’d chosen to stay the night at by Lilith and one of the guards, scaring the horses half to death in the process. Then he’d left the two there, presumably to start his shift. Even if Xander had made it clear that _Lilith_ was the dragon’s sole, primary caretaker, Garon’s men were ever-so-diligent and insisted on keeping watch from outside the stables overnight, should something go wrong.

Only the gods knew just how closely she’d be watched from now on, and how many opportunities she might have to stay in her most comfortable form. This was only the beginning.

Lilith took Corrin’s larger hand in her own, cradling the dragonstone between their palms. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, Corrin. I promise. Even if things go wrong, I’ll die before I let them take your dragonstone away.” She managed a smile; as she tilted her head forwards, a shaft of moonlight hit her face and lit her yellow eyes in a way that made them appear inhuman.

Swallowing her fear, Corrin nodded and squeezed Lilith’s hand in return. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

 

-*-

 

The morning air was bitter and cold despite it supposedly being spring. Although the king’s elite soldiers were disciplined enough not to complain about it, their discomfort showed in their slowed movements and heavy sighs. The prince was as stoic as ever, glancing Corrin’s way now and then but otherwise remaining silent. Corrin herself savored the humid air and the earthy scent the breeze carried, as much as she could without acting too out of line.

They rode across the hills cautiously; the closer they got to some of the more regularly-traveled roads, the more often their mages had to put up a barrier around Corrin. Even with it the group drew gazes of farmers and travelers alike who they passed, most of which fell into a deep bow once they recognized the royal cloaks or the crown prince’s visage. None noticed the oddly-shaped footsteps being made in the dirt at the back of their band.

The next inn they stayed at was a bit more crowded, and getting Corrin into the stables along with the horses was difficult. Standing close to her in her draconic form was disturbing enough to the animals; that on top of the mage’s cloaking spell still in use made them whinny in distress as the guards urged them inside the small building.

Once all was said and done the sorcerers released the spell with an exhausted sigh and left the stables, leaving Corrin and Lilith alone once again. After the last of the light drained from the sky and the yard cleared of voices, she let herself shift back, reveling in the lighter feeling her body had.

The next day passed much the same, and mid-morning the day after that the pointed spires of the palace appeared on the horizon. Between where they stood and Windmire, at least a dozen roads weaved back and forth, with farmers, royals, and everything between moving along them. Corrin watched like a child in a circus as they weaved through each body, taking in the way they were dressed, the distinct shapes of their faces, their voices as they chattered with a traveling companion… It was scary and fascinating at the same time.

As they neared the city border, Xander’s glances over his shoulder at her – despite her being completely cloaked – became more frequent.  Corrin paid it little mind, gazing in awe as they wove through the streets. The same apprehension didn’t hit her until they reached the gates of Krakenburg – then the memories came rushing back, and her entire body tensed up.

There was no turning back now, though, not with the guards lining the path from the palace gates to the keep, not with Xander forging on ahead of them.

Corrin followed them inside.

 

-*-

 

Xander’s heart was beating like a rabbit’s, sweat making his skin clammy and anxiety making him dizzy enough that when he dismounted, his grip on his horse’s reins was all that was keeping him upright. It felt like years since he’d been home. Familiar gazes landed on him as he lead the group towards the throne room, some awed, others full of scrutiny, like they were already privy to his betrayal.

Perhaps if he’d been here under different circumstances, this would motivate him. Work harder, become stronger, bring Nohr more victories and in exchange he would gain their trust and support. In his current, hopeless state, however, all Xander could do was ignore the disapproving atmosphere and focus on the most important problem ahead of him; his father.

As the doors to the throne room were pushed open, he felt his stomach churn in fear. He was seated as always on his throne, slouched, head leaning on one of his hands. Bölverk rested nearby.  It wasn’t until Xander was kneeling before his father that he located his eyes, hidden behind the heavy folds of his brow and the deep, black rings around them. They glinted in the light, unblinking.

The prince had never before felt so afraid of this man.

They addressed each other, Xander praying his voice didn’t sound like he’d suddenly reverted to his shy nine-year-old self. Then, at last, he was freed of Garon’s gaze as something else caught his attention. There was a sizzle in the air, followed by a heavy breath of relief from someone behind him – the mage, finally dispelling the cloak spell he’d placed on Corrin.

He took in a sharp breath, staring at the ground in front of him. _Please,_ please _don’t give us away._

But there came no sudden movements from behind Xander, no raised voice, nothing. And as their briefing continued, Garon’s questions weren’t anything he wasn’t expecting, thank the gods. How the training went, how prepared he thought the two were for warfare, how obedient his dragon was, why it wasn’t bound in chains, why he took so long to finish his work… and yet his sentences were sprinkled with praise, praise that Xander shamefully absorbed every drop of as if he were a dried-up sponge. “ _You’ve done well in taming it,”_ he said, “ _it seems you’re not a failure after all,” “nicely done,” “I look forward to seeing how you perform on the battlefield”…_

As much as Xander was expecting his father to already know about his betrayal, for him to call out an executioner right there and lob his head off as he had so many in this exact spot, he didn’t. The meeting ended, with Garon telling him he should report in the next morning for a more thorough briefing on the status of the war preparations and a conference with other Nohrian leaders on where to go from here.

Until then, the evening was his.

 

-*-

 

Before he addressed the multitude of matters he needed to between now and the fateful meeting tomorrow, Xander had to do something with Corrin. Or rather, insist he handle finding her the proper accommodations, rather than the king’s men. Meaning he needed to be able to speak with her – a challenge, considering their location.

Accompanied by a new sorcerer, now, Xander lead Corrin and the maid Lilith out of the castle entirely. His father had given him the authority to decide where she’d be housed until they were to leave again, and for some reason he felt strongly that she should be taken as far away from the palace itself as possible. Maybe because it was less secure here, more risk of her secret being found out, or maybe because she’d been locked up here and probably had an unimaginable level of discomfort with it right now. It was spring, and she’d more or less been locked up indoors for more than half her life. He’d find a spot outside, away from the palace and as far from Garon as possible without drawing suspicion.

So the three hiked up the countryside just beyond the palace, Windmire’s tall border walls far above them, Krakenburg and the rest of the city behind them. Beyond that were wilds, and beyond that, the orange glow of a setting sun behind a thin layer of clouds on the horizon.

Xander racked his brain as he walked; the hills were a good spot, he just needed to find a suitable location. Away from the tournament grounds was a better idea, since they attracted so many people.

Eventually he settled on a small settlement about two miles out from the castle walls and too out-of-the-way for anyone lingering around the arenas further up to wander into. There was a sizable stable, along with a blacksmith’s place and a barracks. The hills in north Windmire were speckled with spots like this, along with farms used to provide the palace with food. Ever since Nohr had begun mobilization, however, soldiers didn’t frequent these spots as much, and therefore the barracks here was nearly deserted.

Xander assessed it all from atop his horse, nodding at the sets of unused weapons and the lack of recent footprints in the dirt. The same could be said for the stables; all that was left was someone else’s destrier and an old donkey. His gaze moved from the two sleepy animals to the forge; a light was on in the window. Sniffing, the prince dismounted and approached the building.

After a knock and maybe a minute of waiting, the door was pulled open, a elderly man emerging from behind it. He had a wide, frizzy beard and a bandanna tied across his head.

“Welcome…” he began, looking Xander up and down. Then his eyes widened and he swung the door open the rest of the way, throwing himself into a deep bow. “My lord, Prince Xander! F-forgive me…”

While the man was bent down Xander glanced behind him at the building’s interior; it seemed unoccupied save for him, and it could’ve been in better shape. The smell of stew wafted out from the doorway, indicating to the prince that he’d interrupted this man’s dinner.

“…No, forgive my intrusion,” he stated, holding up a hand. The blacksmith rose again, wariness and fear written all over his face. “I wanted to inquire about the state of this settlement. Is business well?” He gave the man an apologetic look. “It is not my intention to sound rude, but…”

The blacksmith’s shoulders hunched. “I’m afraid so, m’lord, if I’m bein’ honest. I’m barely bringing in enough to feed myself, not countin’ Shae and Josie out there,” he added, gesturing behind Xander to the stables. “Nohr’s got bigger plans at the moment, doesn’t it? No need for an old-timer like me with war on the horizon.”

The gears in Xander’s head began cranking and turning. “…Actually, I’m here to speak with you about that. I don’t want to bore you with details, since you’re in the middle of a meal, however… We are currently in need of a small, secluded spot like this for… military matters… and on top of that, I’m certain that we could use an experienced fellow like you in the castle to help out with weapons production.” _Especially with a Chevois rebellion stirring,_ Xander held his tongue.

The blacksmith’s eyes widened, and then he stepped back, gesturing frantically for Xander to come inside. “If that ain’t the best news I’ve heard all month. Please, milord, if you don’t mind, come on in. I assure you, my stew is as good as the weapons I forge. I’d love ta hear you out.”

Without much of an option, Xander obliged.

 

-*-

 

An hour after the prince rode off by himself into the settlement, he returned, nodding at the mage as he did.

“Right. I’ve arranged for the blacksmith occupying this area to be relocated to the castle,” he reported. “He’ll need an hour or two to collect his belongings, and I’ve agreed to send a party up to help him move.”

He turned to Lilith, who was eyeing the settlement critically. “You, Lilith. This dark mage has to remain here to cloak the dragon. I would like you to return to the castle and inform the closest barracks that the prince has requested his retainers to come and assist this man.”

Though it was clear in her eyes that she had objections, Lilith bowed and hustled off.

 

-*-

 

When all was said and done, Xander, now alone with Corrin and Lilith in the barren settlement, allowed himself a breath of relief. He leaned his back against one of the wooden supporting beams of the stables, the ridges of his armor pressing into his back. Just beyond his figure were the two girls, Corrin having just changed back. The sun had set and the air was mild. He could only hope it didn’t get too cold up here, late into the night, though there wasn’t much to be done either way. But it was an improvement from the hole he’d locked her in back at the fortress.

With a shiver at the sickening thought, the prince pulled himself off of the beam and collected his thoughts. The next matter he had to attend to was one he’d been trying not to think about until he was able to address it; Azura. He _had_ to find her, and talk to her. _Now._

Corrin apparently had the same thought.

“I want to see Azura.” Her voice was subdued, behind him, yet full of resolve. “I need to see her.”

He turned around, meeting her gaze. “I was about to go find her. I need to speak with her, as well...”

“Where is she?” Corrin nearly demanded, stepping closer.

Xander’s expression soured. “Buried in the palace somewhere, probably.” _Nowhere you can go._ “I’m going to go locate her now. You need to stay here.”

The princess’s breaths were uneven, like she was going to cry. “Let me see her,” she repeated, fists clenching. “I want to go, too.”

He remained patient with her. It was only natural she’d want to be with Azura, after everything. “Once I locate her,” he said, trying to keep his tone soft despite his exhaustion, “I’ll find a way to bring her here. Until then, I’m asking for you to be patient.”

There were a few seconds of tension in which Xander wasn’t sure if Corrin would continue objecting or maybe burst into tears, but then the girl closed her eyes, sighed, and nodded.

“I’m trusting the two of you won’t try to run off,” he couldn’t help but call as he climbed atop his horse again. “Either way, stay alert. No one should be coming through here, but if they should, remain hidden. I’ll return tomorrow with updates.”

With that, Xander rode off. He’d recovered some semblance of resolve now that he had a clear goal in mind, that goal being finding Azura and getting as much information from her as possible. Then, perhaps, things would become easier and his mind would become clearer.

-

“Huh? Azura? She left just a few days ago.”

Xander stopped dead in his tracks, prompting Laslow to slow, too.

“What?”

“What? I said she left,” repeated the retainer with a slanted smile, hands on his hips. “Surprising, isn’t it? We all thought she’d be stuck here forever. I don’t know how it worked out, but somehow Leo was able to convince your father that sending her to Cheve for training would be the best way to do things. So she packed up and said her goodbyes to the castle, and rode off, what… the day before yesterday?”

“Cheve…?” Xander felt like his head was full of smoke. “Training…?”

Laslow furrowed his brow. “You weren’t aware? The king threw her into the army around six months ago. She’s been training sun-up to sun-down since then.”

_What…?_

“Where is Leo?”

-

“W-what’s that look for? Are you going to tell me she’d be better off _here?_ ” Leo nearly growled after Xander more or less barged into his room demanding to know what had happened. “She was unhappy. Enough that it was probably affecting her health. Don’t you think she deserves to get out of this place? What good was it doing her, staying here?”

Xander tried to defend himself, but his tongue was twisted. “Leo, that’s not-“

“Who are you to show up out of the blue and question my actions, anyway? You’ve been up there in the mountains twiddling your thumbs for two years,” he hissed. “And besides, what would _you_ know about making sacrifices for your own well-being? Azura needed this.”

“I’m not _criticizing_ you, Leo,” spoke Xander. “I only wanted to know what happened, and why. None of the briefings I was sent mentioned that Father was actually trying to put Azura into _battle_.”

The younger prince calmed the slightest bit at this. “…I can see why. It’s not like it would concern you.”

Anger and guilt boiled in Xander’s gut at the words, spoken so bitterly. “She’s my _sister_ , Leo. Of course it concerns me. Unlike you, Camilla, or even Elise, she’s never had any sort of combat training.”

“Why are you so insistent on seeing her, anyways?” he inquired, his gaze unwavering, and for a moment Xander thought his brother might’ve known about _everything_ but then he thought better of it. “Elise is here, but from what I’ve heard you haven’t checked in on _her_ yet.”

_Or me,_ hung unsaid in the air. More guilt gnawed away at Xander’s heart. “Of course I care for both of you, and I want to catch up. But I needed to see Azura first-“

“Why is that?” Leo interrupted.

Xander watched him, careful not to let his face betray his intentions. “Because of what I heard of her apparently being thrown into _boot camp_ , that’s why.”

The silence that hung in the air after this was heavy, and stretched long enough that both princes realized neither of them wanted to fight like this.

“…in any case, she’s gone, whether you like it or not,” Leo stated, crossing his arms. “Hopefully in a better place. If she’s going to die on some battlefield in the war, at least she’ll have a few happier months behind her, now.”

_Die on some battlefield._ Xander clenched his jaw tight and glared at the ground. _I won’t let that happen, not after everything I’ve gone through already._

“The big meeting is tomorrow, too,” Leo added. Somehow he’d moved across the room and was now pouring two cups of tea. “I suppose you’re raring to go to that.”

He was glad to see his brother’s sense of sarcasm hadn’t waned, even after everything he’d apparently been through. With a ghost of a smile, Xander responded, “Not exactly, but it’s necessary.”

The two cups were set down at the table, and Leo collapsed in a seat with a sigh. “I might as well brief you on the latest gossip in advance, to give you a head start, then. It’s been a while for you, after all.”

Allowing himself a proper smile, Xander took the opposing seat and nodded. “I’d appreciate it.”

 

They chattered until the hour was late. It was comforting to Xander, hearing about the castle and political affairs – they were familiar, issues he knew how to deal with, that didn’t make him feel sick with unease. Yet the whole time, it seemed like there was some other topic Leo wanted to bring up, but didn’t. He would pause, retreat into his thoughts, then stiffly continue whatever conversation they were having. Xander didn’t press the issue.

As their conversation waned, however, his thoughts went to Corrin, likely still wide awake waiting for Azura. Breaking the news to her would be difficult. If only they’d arrived a few days sooner… though even then, it was unlikely that his father and Iago would make it easy for him to allow the two to meet.

Either way, they were matters that could be handled in the morning. He needed rest, as did Leo.

“By the way,” the younger prince added as Xander was leaving, “I haven’t seen much of those Ice Tribe maids since you returned. They weren’t left at the fortress, were they?”

The eldest frowned as he glanced back over his shoulder. “I haven’t, actually. I’ll check for them in the morning.”

“Right,” Leo said. “Then, good night.”

“Good night.”

 

-*-

 

_(   2 days prior   )_

 

“This is it, then…?”

“It seems to be, milady.”

Azura stood beside Jakob, each of his arms looped around a large duffle bag. Between them she’d managed to pack away all of her belongings, realizing in the process that she really didn’t own very much at all. A handful of dresses, training clothes, binders full of music, a couple books, a few trinkets… but it didn’t feel right, leaving anything behind. It was like as soon as she left her room the ceiling would cave in and any memory that she existed here would be buried in rubble.

She was in the same old lancer outfit; originally she’d planned on wearing one of the variations of her Vallite gowns that Camilla had made her but thought better of it. This way, she’d draw less attention to herself. At the very least, this outfit was comfortable and suitable for a long trip in a carriage.

Jakob was in his usual getup, with his own bag of supplies hanging off his back.

“Pardon my forwardness, milady, but it’s nearly time. Have you anything else to collect here?”

Azura stared at the now barren room, shaking her head. “No. I just feel like I won’t see it again,” she muttered.

The butler grunted in response. The usual sound he made when he didn’t know how to respond.

“Let’s go,” she said.

 

-*-

 

The coach waited on the bridge that connected Krakenburg’s main keep to the gates leading outside. A couple guards lingered around it, along with a short, plump fellow Azura could only assume was the driver. When she and her butler came into sight he broke away from the others and scurried towards them.

“Princess Azura! I am so very honored to be serving you, milady,” he said with a deep bow and a smile half-hidden under his bushy moustache. “I am Arvine; I serve the Pervenche family of Cheve.”

Azura was so taken aback by the friendliness of the man’s greeting that it wasn’t until Jakob bowed beside her that she realized she needed to respond. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Arvine. Thank you very much for offering me your services.”

The man shook his head as he lead them towards the carriage, practically exuding positive energy. “No, no! Prince Leo contacted us just the other day, you see. We are always happy to serve the crown. When we heard who exactly it was he was requesting us to serve, we were overjoyed. The late Lady Arete was held in very high regards by our family, you see.”

The mention of her mother caught Azura off guard and she faltered. Someone that held her in high regard? She wasn’t aware such people existed, outside of Cyrkensia.

“All things we can discuss on our journey,” Arvine added with an encouraging nod. “It’s a long one, I’m afraid, but in a month’s time we should be arriving in the walled city. The wilds are dangerous, and without a _proper_ escort we’ve got to take the safe roads, east around the Woods of the Forlorn and then along the coastline.”

“…That’s quite alright,” Azura responded with a soft smile. _Anything is better than being stuck here._

Arvine climbed atop his seat and took hold of the reins, shooing the guards away. “How about we head off, then? I can give you all the details on your accommodations in Cheve once we’ve hit the road, milady.”

Azura bowed again before turning to the carriage itself. “Thank you.”

It didn’t feel real. She’d left the castle before but not like this. It truly felt like an escape. She could wave goodbye to the vile nobles, grim hallways, and unpleasant memories from her childhood.

“…Ah,” she paused with her hand on the door-latch, drawing Jakob’s attention.

“What is it, milady?” He inquired as he handed the luggage off to one of the guards, who stowed it away in a different compartment.

“…I forgot,” she muttered, shoulders slumping. “…I wanted to find Niles one last time and thank him. Leo, as well. I haven’t seen them around the castle much, ever since Garon agreed to this.”

Jakob curled his lips in an expression of distaste. “Well, there’s no turning back now, I’m afraid. Perhaps you can send a letter once we’re there.”

But that didn’t seem to satisfy his liege, and she deflated, staring sadly back at the keep. “…I suppose so.”

“Hm, you were gonna leave without saying goodbye, were you? That’s cold.”

Causing the two of them to nearly jump out of their skin, the muffled voice was followed immediately by the carriage door sliding open, tossing Azura’s hand away in the process.

“Niles!?” said Azura.

“ _Niles…”_ said Jakob.

There he was, crouching under the frame with a lazy grin as he took in every detail of Jakob’s reaction. His bow and quiver slung around his back, along with an assortment of pouches – he was fully equipped for travel.

“What are you…”

“No one else wanted to escort you folks to Cheve, so I volunteered,” responded the retainer. “Can’t have the princess of Nohr riding through the wildlands with nothing but a housecat to keep her safe.”

Jakob seethed. “ _You…”_

“Ah, Lady Azura, that’s right,” Arvine piped up from the front of the coach, “I apologize, but I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got right now. I wasn’t able to stop in Cheve and pick up some guards of our own before I received the order to head to Windmire, unfortunately.”

She frowned at Niles, despite herself. “It’s alright with Leo? You’ll be away from your post for some time.”

He shrugged. “Lord Leo practically came up with the idea himself, if I’m being honest. I can’t take all the credit.” Then, his grin widening, he added, “In any case, Odin’s a good enough errand-boy already. The castle gossip might be a little less spicy with me around, but I’m _sure_ they’ll find something else to entertain them for the time being.”

Azura felt her chest warm, and she looked to her butler, the edges of her lips just barely upturned. “Well, then. It seems our journey ahead has gotten that much more interesting, Jakob.”

A heavy groan was all he offered in response as he followed the princess inside the carriage.


	30. King's Hounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief respite is all the Nohrian prince and Hoshidan princess are given before their leashes, now tangled messily together, are tightened.

All eyes were on the crown prince as he stepped into the conference chamber. It was the first many of Nohr’s top politicians and generals had seen of him in months, some years. Many of them didn’t think the boy could’ve grown any taller, but he had, standing almost a head above most, and nearly eye-to-eye with Iago, gargoyle that he was. Aside from that his jaw was a bit more set, his frown a bit more intense, and the ends of his hair curled long and uneven around the base of his neck like the overgrown roots of a tree.

Standing in the doorway as nearly everyone in the room faced him, Xander regarded each pair of eyes before finding his place between Iago and Leo.

“Welcome home, Prince Xander,” hummed the sorcerer from around the corner of the table, fixing the blond with a curious gaze. “Your seat has nearly frozen over in your absence.”

Xander forced his neck to turn to his left and regard Iago. For some reason he felt his eyes widening and his hands curling into fists in his lap.

Part of him wanted to stand up and run the rat through with Siegfried right now.

But Xander was trained better than that, so he merely stared, unable to take his eyes off the man, until Garon sat and began the meeting. Somewhere inside he knew casting such an intense glare in their first meeting since his return could draw suspicion, but the emotions Iago’s appearance had drawn up in Xander were so powerful that he couldn’t help it.

“I’d like to welcome the crown prince home,” the king began, silencing any remaining murmurs. Xander gave his father his full attention, ignoring the growing pit in his stomach. “And to congratulate him on his work. As previously mentioned, Iago and I have been working for years on a plan we believe will greatly improve the efficiency of our offensive into Hoshido. This involved a rare species of dragon I’ve had in my possession for some time now. My son was in such a place that I found it most beneficial that he was the one to command it, but only once he was able to bond with it and have it submit to his will. That he is here with us today should be proof enough of that, however…” The king finally turned to return Xander’s gaze, his bulging eyelids twitching. “I believe a demonstration is necessary, as well. Not just for me, but for all of you present.”

Murmurs broke across the room again, but they were quick to subside. “Such a demonstration will be held on the morrow, however. For now, we’ve larger things to discuss. Iago…?”

“As you all know,” the raven-haired man began, folding his hands on the table, “we’ve begun preparations for the removal of the barrier protecting Hoshidan lands. The origin, as our…” his eyes flick to the king, “ _sources_ have informed us is the queen herself, Mikoto. However, the preparations will take some time and until then, we still cannot make a move on the offensive front.”

There came a pause, Iago allowing any sort of objection. A general Xander knew well spoke up - a man who had served under Gunter back in his better years. “With this Queen Mikoto…” his bushy brow lowered and he leaned forwards, onto the table, clearly not as intimidated by Iago as many in the room were, “What exactly do we plan on doing with her to dispose of this barrier?”

Hanging unsaid in the air yet heard by all was the word _assassination._ Xander felt his heart rate spike.

Iago shifted, his lips curving upwards. “We have yet to determine that, General. Of course, we are not a country of barbarians and we will _think_ before doing anything drastic.”

That allowed the prince to relax a bit, although it was difficult to trust anything that came out of the sorcerer’s mouth when he was smiling like that.

“…While we are preparing that, however, there are many internal affairs that must be handled, which is the main reason you’ve all been called here today,” Iago went on to say, sobering. “Krakenburg has been closely observing such conflicts and assessing how they should be handled. Cheve and the Ice Tribe stand out at the top of the list, but there are other issues we’ve been holding off on confronting for far too long.”

Xander stiffened. _The Ice Tribe?_

“Commander Daniela, if you would…”

The head of the border guard, seated across the table and a few seats down from where the prince was, sat forward and nodded at Iago. “Of course.”

The headquarters of the Nohrian Guard was located within Cheve; it served as one of Nohr’s many footholds in the country. Despite the relationship being officially regarded as an alliance, the argument could be made that it was more of an occupation.

Daniela mentioned as much with a scornful look on her face. “There’s always been some… discomfort, in certain Chevois political parties, due to our military presence in the country. However, as of late we have reason to believe something bigger is stirring. There have been more quarrels breaking out between guards and Chevois militiamen, in places beyond our field of vision, such as pubs and brothels. I believe it was a mistake on our behalf to have dismissed these incidents as inconsequential in the past. My men and I strongly believe there is growing anti-Nohrian sentiment in the capital city.” She crossed her arms. “And because of the huge presence our own government has there, they’d have every reason to ensure that all rebellious activity was done underground, out of our sight.”

The others positioned around the long table began muttering amongst themselves out of concern, and soon debate broke out; some suggested Nohr should withdraw some of its forces from the capital to relieve pressure on those Chevois which felt threatened by their presence, others believed they shouldn’t withdraw but still reach out to the Chevois officials and ambassadors connected to Krakenburg to inquire on how to resolve the whole situation, but those who opposed this said that word of such actions would undoubtedly reach the rebels and encourage them to act before Nohr caught wind of their activities. The loudest voices, however, were those that wanted to take an aggressive approach; question the Cheve leadership directly while doubling down on military surveillance so rebels could be rounded up and interrogated.

Although Xander remained silent, Leo vocalized his opposition to such an approach, saying another war was the last thing they needed right now when the much larger nation of Hoshido was leering at them from across the eastern mountain range.

“Cheve is an important piece of Nohr,” the younger prince said, chin held high. “They’ve been our allies since before I was born. We can’t be so quick to cut ties. It would be no different from fighting amongst ourselves.”

The head Nohrian ambassador to Cheve, a shriveled-looking man with a long beard and worried eyes, regarded Leo’s comment with a nod.

“Cheve may have been part of Nohr fifteen year ago,” growled a huge general Xander recognized as one of the heads of Nohr’s infantry forces, “but fifteen years ago is not so long ago for most of us besides _you_ in this room, little prince.”

Leo’s mouth hung partway open. He glanced around the table, brow twitching as the insult sunk in, before shrinking into his chair with shame.

“ _Some_ of us,” the general continued, “have fathers and grandfathers who died coated in Chevois blood. The war with them was not so long ago.”

There were a few murmurs of agreement, at this. Xander’s lips remained pursed; Leo was right to voice his concerns, but word one thing wrong with this audience and they would tear you apart.

“There will be no tolerance for a rebellion of any kind in the country of Cheve,” Garon finally spoke, causing half of the occupants to jump in their seats. “My son speaks the truth in saying that the Walled City is our property and always will be. We shall tighten security in the capital for now; if conditions worse, we will seek out the leader of this ‘rebellion’ and put their head on a pike.”

Strained hums of agreement ran through the crowd.

When they died down, Xander summoned up his own voice. “What of the Ice Tribe?”

Iago chuckled deeply, arms crossing across his chest. “Ah, yes… Kilma, that fool. Just the other day, we received this letter from him.”

From the folds of his robes the sorcerer then procured a scroll. After unrolling it, his waved his hand and sent the object floating across the table for everyone to see. Xander couldn’t read it in its entirety before it drifted too far away for him to make out the small script, but got the jist of it; he was demanding they sent his daughters back to him.

A few laughs were heard as the letter circulated around the table and back into Iago’s hands. “Absurd, is it not? And how critical he is, of the work our king has done.”

“Does he not understand that sending such a letter is putting his daughter’s lives in danger?” commented Daniela, giggling. “What a foolish man.”

“What sway does he think he holds over us? Is the man suicidal?” groaned another politician from further town the table.

Iago raised a hand to quiet everyone before continuing. “It gets even more interesting, I’m afraid. As you all know, the crown prince returned to the palace yesterday from the Northern Fortress. Accompanying him were some of the king’s guard, a handful of soldiers that were posted at the fortress, the dragon, and three maids. Two of which were Kilma’s daughters, sent there to attend to our prince.”

Xander looked to Iago, feeling dread churn in his gut. Where was this going?

“As of now, only one of those two remains in the palace,” the sorcerer continued in a controlled tone. “The other managed to slip away amidst all this. We can assume she is headed for her tribe.”

He inhaled sharply. _What!? How… When?_ He’d been so distracted by Corrin that he hadn’t even been thinking about the maids, and even then they had acted so obedient the past few months that the thought they might actually try to _flee_ had never occurred to him.

“Due to that, we have every reason to believe our brave Kilma will finally make his move and attempt to strike back. Furthermore, this escaped maid – Flora was her name, I believe – unfortunately is one of the few living persons with knowledge of the dragon and our plans with it.” His whole face darkened, then his fingers tightened around the edge of the table, long nails scraping against the marble. “Should she speak of it to her father, we have all the more justification for wiping their tribe off the map.”

Silence. Xander was sweating beneath his armor. Why the hell had she run away? What did she hope to accomplish?

“What of the other?” inquired the prince, doing all he could to keep his voice from wavering. “The other maid, Felicia.”

He could feel gazes fall on him – more scrutiny, probably for letting one of their hostages get away – but he looked only at Iago, desperate for answers.

The sorcerer rubbed his chin in thought and spared a glance at Garon. “Originally, we thought it wise to use her as bargaining chip. Kilma is a fool that’d likely never sacrifice either of his daughters, even if they are twins. With one of the little wenches still in our hands, we’d be able to coax him out of his fit and keep his tribe in line. However…”

Iago’s grin returned, widening the pit in Xander’s stomach.

“Now that a secret as big as that dragon’s existence has potentially been compromised, we can no longer take any chances. I’m afraid there’s no choice but to circumvent negotiations, and wipe them all out as soon as possible. We cannot risk sacrificing the element of surprise that we currently have.”

Emotion drove into Xander’s chest like a stake and he nearly stood up, looking to the king. “Father, you _can’t_ order something like this. We’ve always had some civility with their tribe. There are plenty of ways to handle this that don’t involve being impulsive and barbarous. And even then, how long will it be until the dragon’s existence is public knowledge? Is it really-“

“Iago’s assertion is correct,” Garon interjected. Jaw clenched, the prince settled back down, embarrassed at his own outburst. “And it is what we will act upon. You, Xander, along with the dragon and any other soldiers of your choosing will march on the Ice Tribe _after_ you’ve proven the beast is suitable enough for such a mission. In the meantime, we’ll lob off the head of Kilma’s remaining daughter and send it to him as a preview of his own fate.”

Xander felt like he’d just been pushed down a hill. Everything was suddenly moving too fast and he couldn’t keep up with it all. Luckily, while he was busy getting his thoughts in order, Leo reacted. “ _Father_! This is preposterous, you’re really going to…!?”

“I’ll hear no objections from you, boy,” Garon continued, voice strong and unshakable.

That was all it took. Leo shrunk in his seat and did as told.

“Now, then…”

 

-*-

 

Corrin stood at one of the stable windows, arms crossed on the sill. The wind blowing through the countryside tossed her hair, which now fell just around her shoulders. She closed her eyes, savoring the smells and sounds that were all so new to her.

Yet even with how serene her heart felt in the moment, little cracks of conflict made their presence known inside her, causing the edges of her mouth to tilt down and her fingers to tap restlessly against her forearms. Experiencing the world as she was now – the feeling of freedom was indescribable, but… lingering was homesickness, anxiety, an itch to run and run and run until she reached the warm, welcoming plains of home. One little taste of the outside world was all it took to turn her into a glutton, it seemed.

She shifted. Where was the prince? Had he decided to turn against her after all? He had promised to come back with info about Azura, or, better yet, with Azura herself. Corrin was dying to see the girl again and speak to her about all that had transpired.

A new sound, carried to her sharp ears by the breeze, interrupted her thoughts. Footsteps. She jumped back from the window, catching the attention of Lilith, who was washing a spare set of clothes for the two of them by the entrance.

“What is it?” the girl asked, pulling down her sleeves.

“Someone’s coming.”

 

-*-

 

“’Go alone’, he says,” grumbled Laslow as he hiked his way up the foothills, a sizable bag of foodstuffs slung over his shoulder. “ _Peri’s_ the one with a horse. And we _both_ came up here yesterday. Why only _me?_ ”

And yet, now that he was certain of what was going on here – this was where Xander had stashed away the dragon – his curiosity was piqued. Maybe, just _maybe_ he could make a move now. Steal her away, somehow, since no one was around, and get her to Hoshido along with Selena and Odin. The fact remained that she was apparently a _rabid dragon_ at the moment, but… he could figure something out. He had to.

As he reached the crest of the same hill from yesterday, he paused to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his forehead. Below sat the small settlement he’d helped that blacksmith move out of, and, based off Xander’s words, the dragon – although there was no sign of it at the moment. His gaze went to the stables… _there, perhaps._

“ _Don’t get too close,”_ his liege had told him. “ _Stay on the outskirts. There is a maid there; she should approach you.”_

Sniffling, Laslow adjusted the bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the buildings.

When he was some three-fourths of the way down the hill, a figure emerged from the stables all of the sudden, walking towards him at a steady pace. The mercenary stopped dead in his tracks.

Though her outfit was a little different, he recognized her. Pale, round face, yellow eyes, blue hair tied into a braid, a look of determination etched into her features…

“Y-you…!” instinctively he stepped back, one of his hands leaving the bag to go to his blade. She didn’t slow down; he backpedaled further, dropping the satchel altogether and drawing his sword. “You’re…!”

Finally, the maid stopped, looking Laslow up and down. Then her eyes widened and she looked all around, stopping for a while on the stables before bringing her gaze back to him. Her lips twisted into a frown.

“What are you doing _here!?”_ he questioned, holding his blade higher. “Don’t tell me you’re the one that’s…”

“Allow me to explain,” Lilith offered, visibly tense. “Please. And _keep your voice down…!”_

A minute passed, and then another. Upon realization that the girl no longer had any kind of Risen-summoning powers and was more or less harmless in this state, he finally sheathed his weapon, looking her over critically. “Why? There’s no one around to overhear us. Lord Xander already made certain of that.”

Lilith didn’t respond to this; instead she glanced back at the stables, _again_ , and then barged forwards, grabbing Laslow’s arm and pulling him after her. With a grunt of objection, they continued until they reached the top of the hill, at which point Lilith detached herself and sighed heavily.

Memories of his time in Valla came back to him as he stared her down and, again, fear stirred in his heart. This girl was an underling of _Anankos._ She had likely murdered the man they had met. And now she was here, with _Corrin,_ the sole daughter of Anankos; she had somehow wormed her way into the Nohrian brass, and gained enough trust with Xander to be guarding something as precious as the king’s prized dragon? He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword once more.

“Well, then, let’s hear it.”

 

-*-

 

An hour later the two were seated in the grass, Laslow with his sword laying across his lap, Lilith with both her hands clenched into fists. The tension had not dissipated, but he was allowing her time to speak and buying her story (at least, to an extent). She kept glancing back over to the stables, which, eventually, he figured out the reason for – Corrin, _Corrin,_ not just a mindless dragon, was there, and Lilith wanted to take the truth about her position with her to the grave.

Laslow was skeptical at first, but the longer he watched Lilith the more believable her story became. It was more her behavior than anything else that convinced him she’d had a change of heart – she was acting like someone who genuinely wanted to do good but was struggling to figure out how. And, although he’d been an only child, he was familiar with how influential familial bonds could be – especially when most of one’s family was already dead.

His chest heaved as he let out a sigh. “Well, there’s a long road ahead of the two of you if you want to return her to Hoshido.” Picking at a few blades of grass, he added, “It would be easier if Selena, Odin, and I just took her and ran for the border.”

Lilith’s expression soured. “I’ve been thinking something similar this whole time, but…” Her jaw clenched. “She’s… she’s not agreeing to that. Not after she made that deal to cooperate with the prince. I think she’s just too naïve to see where this could lead her.”

Xander. So _that_ was what he’d been hiding, this whole time. Laslow had thought the prince had been acting a bit strange since his return, but he never would have guessed that it was due to this. It seemed completely unrealistic of him to do something so… treacherous, but also _humane._ Unless he had something else up his sleeve – sneak her into Hoshido, act like he’s on her side, then use her to conquer the kingdom she called home.

His head tossed back, and he stared glumly up at the sky. _Would_ Xander do something deceptive like that? Even after serving the boy for years, he was way too hard to read. If he had malicious intentions at all, it seemed like he would’ve just gone to his father the moment Corrin’s true form was revealed to him.

Maybe he was just like Lilith – someone with a history of being controlled by a horrible entity, struggling to step off that predetermined path, to find their own way and set their own morals.

“…Whatever the case… Let’s meet the girl, shall we?” He piped up, moving to get to his feet. “She must be lonely!”

Lilith sprung up, too, snapping back into her agitated state that she’d taken so long to coax out of. “Absolutely _not_.”

Laslow’s brow shot up. “Whaaat? Why not? I could at least catch her up on things-“

“ _No,_ ” Lilith’s voice was cold and sturdy, her eyes glowing with hostility.

The mercenary took a moment to size her up as the gears in his head began to spin. “Wait, you…” He scratched at his hair. “You… haven’t _told_ her _anything_?”

The girl flinched. “…Nothing more than she needs to know.”

He opened his mouth to object but then stopped, thinking better of it. This wasn’t the time to get on Lilith’s bad side, especially considering _she_ was the one closest to Corrin right now. He had questions about the decision, but held his tongue. If things stayed as they were, the dragon-girl wouldn’t be going anywhere – at least, not anywhere Laslow wouldn’t be far from. Rushing anything at this point could be dangerous.

“…Right, then,” he said, brow furrowed. “Well, I’m sure you have your reasons for that. In any case, Lord Xander might lose his marbles if I’m away too long, so…” his eyes went to the bag of food. “You can lug that down there yourself, yeah?”

Practically bristling with tension, Lilith stepped forward and picked said object up before backing away again.

“Alright then… I’ll check in again soon,” Laslow muttered. He took one last look at the stables far beyond their spot on the hills before nodding and heading off, feeling the Vallite’s eyes on his back the whole way down.

_Selena, Odin – I have to find them first._

 

-*-

 

It was late into the night when the prince appeared again, standing in the threshold of the stables like a phantom. He made no sounds, offered no greeting, only stood there blocking out the moonlight until Corrin noticed him. She stared from across the room, rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating, then glanced over to one of the empty stalls where Lilith was sleeping atop a pile of hay.

A minute or so passed in silence, then she stood and walked to the entrance as quietly as possible. Meeting the prince’s eyes, her intentions were clear – she didn’t want to wake Lilith.

There was the slightest incline of his head before he turned around, starting for the house just across the clearing. She followed, surveying the hilltops that encircled them and finding nothing, not even his horse.

Once inside Xander shut the door behind them. The smell of stew still lingered in the cool air, from the supper Lilith had made a few hours earlier. Corrin followed as the prince moved to a dining table, taking a seat and resting his arms atop it.

After a few more seconds of tense silence, the princess’s patience finally shattered. “Where is Azura?”

He cringed, sending a stronger wave of anxiety through Corrin’s body.

“Where-“

“Gone,” he said, terse and cold. The word hung in the air, echoed through Corrin’s head over and over as her hands began to tremble.

The prince spared a glance at her, then corrected himself: “She’s left Windmire. On her own accord, apparently. Headed abroad, to Cheve. My father has her training as a recruit in the military.”

At this, the princess relaxed, if only a little. So, _gone_ didn’t mean _dead._

But this meant she couldn’t see her, they couldn’t talk, she _had_ to see her again, she had to, she had to-

“I’ve no idea when she will return, or if she will at all,” continued the prince. “It may be better of her to remain in Cheve. Castle Krakenburg was… not the best environment for her, after all.”

Corrin considered his words. Truly, Azura was miserable in the palace and she always had been. So in a way it was good she was gone, that she was away from the king and from Iago. But…

Emotions welled up in her chest like a storm. _How could she just_ leave? _Doesn’t she want to help me? To see me again?_ She felt her eyes grow hot with tears and ducked her head so her bangs fell over her face. _H-how could she just abandon me? Doesn’t she care anymore? S-she just… She brings me back, and then_ leaves? _Leaves me with the Nohrians? With the prince!? Is… is that all? What about escaping together? Protecting each other? Why… why would she run away…?_

Withdrawing into herself, Corrin wept, feeling her legs give way beneath her and hearing her knees hit the ground, hard. She curled, arms wrapping around her armored chest, hugging herself tightly as loneliness and betrayal, selfish as it may have been, ate away at her heart.

Whether the prince just didn’t care or if he didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know, but he remained as still and silent as a wall as she sat there crying.

Time crawled onwards, prince and princess grew stiff and uncomfortable with the other. As she calmed, Corrin wondered why he was even still here – he’d said what he had to say, hadn’t he? Unless he was trying to actually _comfort_ her by staying, which would’ve been absurd because his presence did everything _but_ that.

“There’s more,” he finally muttered when her sobs had died down, “when you’re prepared.”

The prince hadn’t exactly done anything wrong but for some reason Corrin felt inexplicably furious with him in this moment. Maybe it was the anguish over Azura leaving her, maybe it was how cold he was being – whatever it was it drove her to stand back up and actually take a seat at the table. When she was situated she shot an icy glare at him, red eyes ringed with puffy pink skin.

To her satisfaction, he actually broke contact and ducked his head, his frown growing deeper.

“We’ll be leaving Windmire soon,” he stated.

“What?”

_Already_? But if _they_ were leaving – and _Azura_ had just left, then did that perhaps mean…

“Tomorrow we’ll have to run through some exercises before my father and an audience,” continued the prince. The tips of his clawed gauntlets scraped against the tabletop this way and that, though he didn’t seem conscious of it. “He wants a demonstration, proof that you’re… ready, before we’re deployed.”

Corrin bit down on her lip. Her blood ran cold at the thought of seeing the king again.

“Following that…” he trailed off, shifted in his chair. The princess waited, hands folded in her lap. “…Following that, we’re being sent south to a territory under our jurisdiction. My father wishes us to quell a rebellion as our first task.”

“…South…?” a trickle of hope rested in the word, hope that somehow, someway they’d run into Azura…

“…South _east_ ,” he continued, snuffing the little candle of hope between his fingers. “To… to the Ice Tribe.”

_Ice Tribe…?_ That was right, Corrin thought – she hadn’t seen the twins since she’d arrived here. Would they be going home?

She craned her neck up, thoughts momentarily drifting from Azura, looking to the prince, a million questions on her tongue – only to find he’d stood up and was stepping around her towards the door.

“W-wait,” she said, legs wobbling as she straightened, “wait- F-Felicia and Flora…?“

The door opened. “I’ll return in the morning,” he said, back turned, voice muted. “…You’d best get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day, and the day after that…”


End file.
